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PHILOTHEA. 


A ROMAN 

T?,n 

The intelligiblejW^ftfcf^mcient poets/ 

The fair humanim*^)Wuireiigion, 

The Power, the Beauty, and the Majesty, 

That had their haunts in dale, or piny mountain, 

Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring, 

Or chasms and wat’ry depths ; all these have vanished — 
They live no longer in the faith of Reason! 

But still, the heart doth need a language — still 
Doth the old instinct bring back the old names. 

Coleridge. 

A Spirit hung, 

Beautiful region ! o’er thy towns and farms, 

Statues, and temples, and memorial tombs ; 

And emanations were perceived. 

Wordsworth* 


««a it •« 



BY MRS. CHILD. Ls S t '< . M x% \ 

Author of 6 The Mother’s Book,’ &c. 

rvoi'i 



BOSTON: 

OTIS, BROADERS & CO. 

N E W-Y O R K : 

GEORGE DEARBORN. 

1836 . 









t£ OF ST 

V' HYDi M 

1 19SS 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1836, by 
PARK BENJAMIN. 

in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of Massachusetts. 



</ 



4 ? 


s v>u 




D. K. Hitchcock, 
9 Cornhill. 


t 

( i 
C ( 






I Y BROTHER, ( 


THE REVEREND CONVERS FRANCIS, 


OF WATERTOWN, MASS. 


TO WHOSE EARLY INFLUENCE 1 OWE MY LOVE OF LITERATURE, 


THIS VOLUME 


IS RESPECTFULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY 


INSCRIBED 






PREFACE. 


This volume is purely romance ; and most read- 
ers will consider it romance of the wildest kind. 
A few kindred spirits, prone to people space “ with 
life and mystical predominance,” will perceive a 
light within the Grecian Temple. 

For such I have written it. To minds of differ- 
ent mould, who may think an apology necessary 
for what they will deem so utterly useless, I have 
nothing better to offer than the simple fact that I 
found delight in doing it. 

The work has been four or five years in its 
progress ; for the practical tendencies of the age, 
and particularly of the country in which I lived, 
have so continually forced me into the actual, that 
my mind has seldom obtained freedom to rise 
into the ideal. 

The hope of extended usefulness has hitherto 
induced a strong effort to throw myself into the 
spirit of the times; which is prone to neglect 
beautiful and fragrant flowers, unless their roots 
1* 


PREFACE, 


vii 

answer for vegetables, and their leaves for herbs. 
But there have been seasons when my soul felt 
restless in this bondage, — like the Pegasus of 
German fable, chained to a plodding ox, and offered 
in the market ; and as that rash steed , when he 
caught a glimpse of the far blue sky, snapped the 
chain that bound him, spread his wings, and left 
the earth beneath him — so I, for awhile, bid adieu 
to the substantial fields of utility, to float on the 
clouds of romance. 

The state of mind produced by the alternation 
of thoughts, in their nature so opposite, was oddly 
pictured by the following dream, which came before 
me in my sleep, with all the distinctness of reality, 
soon after I began to write this work. 

I dreamed that I arose early in the morning, and 
went into my garden, eager to see if the crocus 
had yet ventured to peep above the ground. To 
my astonishment, that little spot, which the day 
before had worn the dreary aspect of winter, was 
now filled with flowers of every form and hue l 
With enthusiastic joy I clapped my hands, and 
called aloud to my husband to come and view the 
wonders of the garden. He came ; and we passed 
from flower to flower, admiring their marvellous 
beauty. Then, with a sudden bound, I said, 11 Now 
come and see the sunshine on the water ! ” 

We passed to the side of the house, where the 
full sea presented itself, in all the radiance of 
morning. And as we looked, lo ! there appeared 
a multitude of boats, with sails like the wings of 


PREFACE. 


viii 

butterflies — which now opened wide, and reposed 
on the surface of the water ; and now closed, like 
the motions of weary insects in July; — and ever 
as they moved, the gorgeous colors glittered in the 
sunshine. 

I exclaimed, “ These must have come from 
fairy land ! ” As I spoke, suddenly we saw among 
the boats a multitude of statues, that seemed to be 
endowed with life ; some large and majestic, some 
of beautiful feminine proportions, and an almost 
infinite variety of lovely little cherubs. Some 
were diving, some floating, and some undulating 
on the surface of the sea ; and ever as they rose up, 
the water-drops glittered like gems on the pure 
white marble. 

We could find no words to express our rapture, 
while gazing on a scene thus clothed with the 
beauty of other worlds. As we stood absorbed in 
the intensity of delight, I heard a noise behind me, 
and turning round, saw an old woman with a 
checked apron, who made an awkward courtesy, 
and said, “ Ma’am, I can’t afford to let you have 
that brisket for eight pence a pound.” 

When I related this dream to my husband, he 
smiled and said, “ The first part of it was dreamed 
by Philothea; the last, by the Frugal Housewife.” 




>■ 

. 


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• ' , ' / . I 








■'V' • -vM 


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; * 4 

. 






-• 















PHILOTHEA. 




CHAPTER I. 


Here let us seek Athenre’s towers, 

The cradle of old Cecrops’ race, 

The world’s chief ornament and grace ; 

Here mystic fanes and rites divine, 

And lamps in sacred splendor shine ; 

Here the gods dwell in marble domes, 
feasted with costly hecatombs, 

That round their votive statues blaze, 

Whilst crowded temples ring with praise ; 

And pompous sacrifices here 
Make holidays throughout the year. 

Aristophanes. 

The moon was moving through the heavens in silent 
glory — and Athens, with all her beautiful variety of 
villas, altars, statues, and temples, rejoiced in the 
hallowed light. 

The white columns of the lofty Parthenon stood in 
distinct relief against the clear blue sky; the crest and 
spear of Pallas Promachos glittered in the refulgent 
atmosphere, a beacon to the distant mariner; the line 
of brazen tripods, leading from the Theatre of Di- 
onysus, glowed like urns of fire; and the waters of 



10 


PHILOTHEA. 


the Illyssus glanced right joyfully, as they moved 
onward to the ocean. The earth was like a slumber- 
ing babe, smiling in its sleep, because it dreams of 
Heaven. 

In the most ancient and quiet part of the city, not 
far from the gate Diocharis, was the modest mansion 
of Anaxagoras; and at this tranquil hour, the grand- 
daughter of the philosopher, with her beloved compan- 
ion Eudora, stood on the roof, enjoying the radiant 
landscape, and the balmy air. 

Philothea’s tall figure was a lovely union of majesty 
and grace. The golden hair, which she inherited from 
a Laconian mother, was tastefully arranged on the top 
of her head, in a braided crown, over the sides of 
which the bright curls fell, like tendrils of grapes from 
the edge of a basket. The mild brilliancy of her large 
dark eyes formed a beautiful contrast to a complexion 
fair even to transparency. Her expression had the 
innocence of infancy; but it was tinged with something 
elevated and holy, which made it seem like infancy in 
Heaven. 

Eudora had more sparkling eyes, lips more richly 
colored, and a form more slender and flexile. Her 
eomplexion might have seemed dark, had it not been 
relieved by a profusion of glossy black hair, a portion 
of which was fastened with a silver arrow, while the 
remainder shaded her forehead, and fell over her 
shoulders. 

As they stood side by side, with their arms twined 
around each other, they were as lovely a sight as the 
moon ever shone upon. Totally unlike each other, but 
both excellent in beauty. One might have been a 
model for the seraphs of Christian faith, the other an 
Olympian deity. 




PHILOTHEA. 


11 


For a few moments Philothea stood in earnest silence, 
gazing upon the bright planet of evening — then, in a 
tone of deep enthusiasm, she exclaimed: “ It is a 
night to feel the presence of the gods! Virgin sister 
of Phoebus, how calm thou art in thy glorious beauty! 
Thou art filling the world with music, silent to the ear, 
but audible to the heart! Phidias has embodied the 
unbreathing harmony in stone, and we worship the fair 
proportions as an emanation from the gods. The birds 
feel it — and wonder at the tune that makes no noise. 
The whole earth is lulled by its influence. All is 
motionless; save the Naiades of the stream, moving in 
wreathed dance to the voiceless melody. See how 
their shining hair sparkles on the surface of the waters! 
Surely there is music in this light! Eudora, what is it* 
within us that listens where there is no sound ? Is it 
thus we shall hear in Elysium? ” 

In a subdued and troubled voice, her companion 
answered, “Oh, Philothea, when you talk thus, my 
spirit is in fear — and now too, all is so still and bright, 
that it seems as if the gods themselves were listening 
to our speech.” 

“The same mysterious influence impresses me with 
awe,” replied the contemplative maiden: “ In such an 
hour as this, Plato must have received the sublime 
thought, ‘God is truth — and light is his shadow.’ ” 

Eudora drew more closely to her friend, and said, 
timidly: “Oh, Philothea, do not talk of the gods. 
Such discourse has a strange and fearful power when 
the radiant daughter of Zeus is looking down upon us 
in all her heavenly majesty. Even the midnight pro- 
cession of the Panathenaia affected me less deeply.” 

After a few moments of serious silence, she con- 
tinued: “ I saw it last night, for the first time since my 


12 


PHlLOTHEi. 


childhood; for you know I was very ill when the fes- 
tival was last celebrated. It was truly a beautiful and 
majestic scene! The virgins all clothed in white; the 
heifers decorated with garlands; the venerable old 
men bearing branches of olive; the glittering chariots; 
the noble white horses, obeying the curb with such 
proud impatience; the consecrated image of Pallas 
carried aloft on its bed of flowers; the sacred ship 
blazing with gems and gold; all moving in the light of 
a thousand torches! Then the music, so loud and 
harmonious! It seemed as if all Athens joined in the 
mighty sound. I distinguished you in the procession; 
and I almost envied you the privilege of embroidering 
the sacred peplus, and being six long months in the 
service of Pallas Athenae. I have had so much to say 
since you returned, and Phidias has so many guests, 
that I have found little time to ask concerning the 
magnificent sights you saw within the Acropolis. ” 

“ The night would wear away, ere I could describe 
all I witnessed within the walls of the Parthenon alone,” 
rejoined her companion: “There is the silver-footed 
throne, on which Xerxes sat, while he watched the 
battle of Salamis; the scimitar ofMardonius, captured 
at Platea; a beautiful ivory Persephone on a pedestal 
of pure gold; and a Methymnean lyre, said to have 
belonged to Terpander himself, who you know was 
the first that used seven strings. Victorious wreaths, 
coins, rings, and goblets of shining gold, are there 
without number; and Persian couches, and Egyptian 
sphynxes, and — ” 

“ What do you find so interesting beyond the 
walls? ” asked Eudora, smiling at the earnestness with 
which her friend gazed in the distance : “ Do the 

slaves, bringing water from the Fountain of Callirhoe, 
look so very beautiful in the moonlight? ” 


PHILOTHEA. 


13 


“I marvel that you can speak so lightly,” replied 
Philothea. “We have as yet heard no tidings con- 
cerning the decision in the Court of Cynosarges, on 
which the fate of Philaemon depends; and you know 
how severely his high spirit will suffer, if an unfavora- 
ble sentence is awarded. Neither of us have alluded 
to this painful topic. But why have we thus lingered 
on the house-top, if it were not to watch for the group, 
which, if I mistake not, are now approaching, on their 
return from Cynosarges? ” 

“Then it is for Philaemon ’s sake that you have so 
long been looking wistfully toward the Illyssus ? ” said 
Eudora, playfully. 

“ I will not deny that Paralus has had the largest 
share of my thoughts,” replied the simple-hearted 
maiden; “but for Philaemon, as your bethrothed lover, 
and the favorite pupil of my grandfather, I feel an 
interest strong enough to keep me on the watch during 
a less delightful evening than this. I think it must be 
Paralus who walks in the centre of the group ; we have 
been separated many months; and courtesy to the 
numerous strangers under his father’s roof has pre- 
vented our having much discourse to-day. For his 
sake, I am glad once more to be in my own happy 
home. He is none the less dear to me because I 
know that he can never be my husband.” 

“And why should he not?” exclaimed Eudora: 
“The blood of princes flowed in the veins of your 
ancestors. If Anaxagoras is poor, it is because he has 
preferred wisdom to gold.” 

With a faint sigh, Philothea answered, “Had the 
good old man preferred gold to wisdom, I should have 
loved him less; nor would his instructions have made 
me such a wife as Paralus deserves; yet Pericles 


2 


14 


PHILOTHEA. 


would have better liked the union. He has obtained 
from his son a solemn promise never to speak to me of 
marriage. The precaution was unnecessary; for since 
this new law has passed, I would not marry Paralus, 
even with his father’s consent. I would never be 
the means of bringing degradation and losses upon 
him.” 

“ If you still love Paralus, I wonder you can be so 
quiet and cheerful,” said Eudora. 

“ I wished him to make the required promise, because 
obedience to parents is our first duty,” replied Philo- 
thea; “ and had I thought otherwise, the laws compel 
it. But the liberty of loving Paralus, no power can 
take from me; and in that I find sufficient happiness. 
I am bound to him by ties stronger than usually bind 
the hearts of women. My kind grandfather has given 
me an education seldom bestowed on daughters; and 
from our childhood, Paralus and I have shared the 
same books, the same music, and the same thoughts, 
until our souls seem to be one. When I am very 
happy, I always see a peculiar brightness on his coun- 
tenance; and when I am powerfully impressed by any 
of the fair sights of this beautiful world, or by those 
radiant deities who live among the stars, often, before 
I can speak my thoughts, he utters my very words. 
I sometimes think the gods have united human beings 
by seme mysterious principle, like the according notes 
of music. Or is it as Plato has supposed, that souls 
originally one, have been divided, and each seeks the 
half it has lost ? Eudora, if you consider how gener- 
ally maidens are bestowed in marriage without con- 
sulting their affections, you must confess that you 
have reason to feel deeply grateful for your own lot.” 


f H I L O T H E A » 


15 


K Yet this new law against those of foreign parent- 
nge, renders marriage with me as dishonorable as with 
you,” rejoined the maiden: “Nay, it is much more 
so; for I am a slave, though, by courtesy, they do not 
call me one.” 

“ But Philmmon has no parents to forbid his choice, ” 
said Philothea; “and if the court decide against him, 
he will incur no fine by a marriage with you; for he 
himself will then be a sojourner in Athens. The loss 
of his paternal estates will indeed leave him poor; but 
he has friends to assist his own energies, and in all 
probability, your union will not be long delayed. Ah, 
now I am certain that Anaxagoras approaches, with 
Paralus and Philaemon. They perceive us; but Para- 
lus does not wave his hand as he promised to do, if 
they brought good tidings.” 

Without appearing to share her anxiety, Eudora 
carelessly inquired, “Did you witness the Festival of 
Torches, while you were within the Acropolis? The 
swiftness of the runners, moving in the light of their 
own torches, making statues and temples ruddy with 
the glow as they passed, was truly a beautiful sight. 
I suppose you heard that Alcibiades gained the prize? 
With what graceful celerity he darted through the 
course! I was at Aspasia’s house that evening. It is 
so near the goal, that we could plainly see his counte- 
ance flushed with excitement and exercise, as he stood 
waving his unextinguished torch in triumph.” 

“I am sorry Phidias considers improvement in 
music of sufficient consequence to encourage your 
visits to that dangerous woman,” answered Philothea: 
“ It was an unpropitious day for Athens when she came 
here to invest vice with all the allurements of beauty 
and eloquence.” 


16 


PHILOTHEA. 


“ I think women should judge kindly of Aspasia’s 
faults, and remember that they are greatly exaggerated 
by her enemies,” rejoined Eudora; “ for she proves 
that they are fit for something better than mere domes- 
tic slaves. Her house is the only one in all Greece 
where women are allowed to be present at entertain- 
ments. What is the use of a beautiful face, if one 
must be shut up in her own apartment forever? And 
What avails skill in music, if there is no chance to dis- 
play it? I confess that I like the customs Aspasia is 
trying to introduce.” 

“And I should like them, if I believed they would 
make the Grecian women something better than mere 
domestic slaves,” said Philothea; “but such as As- 
pasia will never raise women out of the bondage in 
which they are placed by the impurity and selfishness 
of man. Your own confessions, Eudora, do not speak 
well for her instructions. Why should a true-hearted 
woman wish to display her beautiful face, or her skill in 
music, to any but those on whom her affections are 
bestowed? ” 

“ It is natural to wish for admiration,” replied the 
handsome maiden: “ The goddesses themselves con- 
tended for it. You, at least, ought not to judge As- 
pasia harshly; for she has the idea that you are some 
deity in disguise; and she has the most extravagant 
desire to see you.” 

“ Flattery to ourselves does not change the nature 
of what is wrong,” answered Philothea. “Pericles 
has more than once mentioned Aspasia’s wish that I 
should visit her; but nothing short of my grandfather’s 
express command will ever induce me to do it. Our 
friends are now entering the gate. Let us go to 
welcome them.” 


rBlLOTtiEA, 


n 


Eudora hastily excused herself under the plea of 
^duties at home; and Philothea, supposing it might be 
painful to meet her unfortunate lover in the presence 
of others, forebore to urge it, 

A paternal blessing beamed from the countenance of 
Anaxagoras the moment Philothea appeared. Paralus 
greeted her as a brother welcomes a cherished sister; 
but in the earnest kindness of his glance was expressed 
something more deep and heart-stirring than his words 
implied. 

Philsemon, though more thoughtful than usual, re- 
ceived his own and Eudora’s friend, with cheerful 
cordiality. His countenance had the frank and smiling 
expression of one who truly wishes well to all men, 
and therefore sees everything reflected in forms of joy. 
His figure was athletic, while his step and bearing 
indicated the promptitude and decision of a man who 
acts spontaneously from his own convictions. 

Paralus, far from being effeminate, was distinguished 
for his dexterity and skill in all the manly sports of 
the gymnasium; but the purity of his complexion, and 
the peculiarly spiritual expression of his face, would 
have been deemed beautiful, even in a woman. The 
first he probably derived from his mode of life; for, 
being a strict Pythagorean, he never partook of animal 
food. The last was the transparent medium of inno- 
cence, through which thoughts and affections continu- 
ally showed their changing forms of life. 

In answer to her eager questions, Philothea soon 
learned that her fears had prophesied aright concern- 
ing the decision of the court. Philaemon had been 
unsuccessful ; but the buoyant energy of his character 
did not yield even to temporary despondency. He 
spoke of his enemies without bitterness, and of his own 

prospects with confidence and hope. 

2 * 


18 


PHILOTHEA. 


Philothea would have immediately gone to convey 
the tidings to her friend, had not Philaemon early taken 
his leave, and passed through the garden into the 
house of Phidias. 

Paralus remained until a late hour, alternately talk- 
ing with the venerable philosopher, and playing upon 
his flute, while Philothea sung the songs they had 
learned together. 

In the course of conversation, Anaxagoras informed 
his child that Pericles particularly urged her attendance 
at Aspasia’s next symposium. “ I obey my grand- 
father, without a question,’’ she replied; “ but I would 
much rather avoid this visit, if it were possible.” 

“ Such is likewise my wish,” rejoined the philoso- 
pher; “ but Pericles has plainly implied that he should 
be offended by refusal ; it is therefore necessary to 
comply with his request.” 

The maiden looked doubtingly at her lover, as if 
she deemed his sanction necessary; and the inquiring 
glance was answered by an affectionate smile. “I 
need not repeat my thoughts and feelings with regard 
to Aspasia,” said Paralus; “ for you know them well; 
but for many reasons it is not desirable that an es- 
trangement should take place between my father and 
Anaxagoras. Since, therefore, it has pleased Pericles 
to insist upon it, I think the visit had better be made. 
You need not fear any very alarming innovation upon 
the purity of ancient manners. Even Aspasia will 
reverence you.” 

Philothea meekly yielded to the opinion of her 
friends ; and it was decided that, on the evening after 
the morrow, she should accompany her grandfather to 
Aspasia’s dwelling. 


PHILOTHEAt 


19 


Before proceeding farther, it is necessary to relate 
the situation of the several characters introduced in 
this chapter. 

Anaxagoras had been the tutor of Pericles, and still 
retained considerable influence over him; but there 
were times when the straightforward sincerity, and un- 
compromising integrity of the old man were somewhat 
offensive and troublesome to his ambitious pupil. For 
the great Athenian statesman, like modern politicians, 
deemed honesty excellent in theory, and policy safe in 
practice. Thus admitting the absurd proposition that 
principles entirely false and corrupt in the abstract are 
more salutary, in their practical manifestation, than 
principles essentially good and true. 

While Pericles was determined to profit by diseases 
of the state, the philosopher was anxious to cure them; 
therefore, independently of personal affection and 
gratitude, he was willing to make slight concessions 
in order to retain some influence over his illustrious 
pupil. 

The celebrated Aspasia was an elegant and volup- 
tuous Ionian, who succeeded admirably in pleasing the 
good taste of the Athenians, while she ministered to 
their vanity and their vices. The wise and good 
lamented the universal depravity of manners, sanc- 
tioned by her influence ; but a people so gay, so ardent, 
so intensely enamoured of the beautiful, readily ac- 
knowledged the sway of an eloquent and fascinating 
woman, who carefully preserved the appearance of 
decorum. Like the Gabrielles and Pompadours of 
modern times, Aspasia obtained present admiration and 
future fame, while hundreds of better women were 
neglected and forgotten. The crowds of wealthy and 
distinguished men who gathered around her, were 


20 


PHILOTHEA. 


profuse in their flattery and munificent in their gifts ) 
and Pericles so far yielded to her influence, that he 
divorced his wife and married her. 

Philsemon was at that time on terms of intimacy with 
the illustrious orator; and he earnestly remonstrated 
against this union, as alike disgraceful to Pericles and 
injurious to public morals. By this advice he incurred 
the inveterate dislike of Aspasia; who never rested 
from her efforts until she had persuaded her husband 
to procure the revival of an ancient law, by which all 
citizens who married foreigners, were subjected to a 
heavy fine; and all persons, whose parents were not 
both Athenians, were declared incapable of voting in 
the public assemblies, or of inheriting the estates of 
their fathers. Pericles the more readily consented to 
this, because such a law at once deprived many politi- 
cal enemies of power. Philsemon was the son of 
Chosrilaus, a wealthy Athenian; but his mother had 
been born in Corinth, though brought to Athens during 
childhood. It was supposed that this latter circum- 
stance, added to the patriotism of his family and his 
own moral excellence, would prevent the application 
of the law in his individual case. But Alcibiades, for 
reasons unknown to the public, united his influence 
with that of Aspasia; and their partizans were active 
and powerful. When the case was tried in the court 
of illegitimacy at Cynosarges, Philsemon was declared 
a sojourner in Athens, incapable of holding any office, 
and dispossessed of his paternal inheritance. 

Eudora was a mere infant when Phidias bought her 
of a poor goatherd in Phelle. The child was sitting 
upon a rock, caressing a kid, when the sculptor first 
saw her, and the gracefulness of her attitude attracted 
his attention, while her innocent beauty touched his 


PHILOTHEA. 


21 


heart. She and her nurse had been stolen from the 
Ionian coast, by Greek pirates. The nurse was sold 
into slavery, and the babe delivered by one of the 
pirates to the care of his mother. The little creature, 
in her lisping way, called herself baby Minta; and this 
appellation she retained, until Phidias gave her the 
name ofEudora. 

Philothea, the orphan daughter of Alcimenes, son of 
Anaxagoras, was a year or two older than Eudora. 
She was brought to Athens, at about the same period; 
and as they resided very near each other, the habitual 
intercourse of childhood naturally ripened into mature 
friendship. No interruption of this constant intimacy 
occurred, until Philothea was appointed one of the 
Canephorae, whose duty it was to embroider the sacred 
peplus, and to carry baskets in the grand procession of 
the Panathenaia. Six months of complete seclusion 
within the walls of the Acropolis, were required of the 
Canephorae. During this protracted absence, Aspasia 
persuaded Phidias to bring Eudora frequently to her 
house; and her influence insensibly produced a great 
change in that young person, whose character was 
even more flexile than her form. 

A ; ( ' - 

' 




CHAPTER II. 


« With grace divine her soul is blest, 

And heavenly Pallas breathes within her breast ; 

In wonderous arts than woman more renowned, 

And more than woman with deep wisdom crowned.” 

Homer. 

It was the last market hour of Athens, when Anax- 
agoras, Philothea, and Eudora, accompanied by Geta, 
the favorite slave of Phidias, stepped forth into the 
street, on their way to Aspasia’s residence. 

Loud shouts of laughter came from the agoras, and 
the whole air was filled with the hum of busy mul- 
titude. Groups of citizens lingered about the porticos; 
Egyptians, Medians, Sicilians, and strangers from all 
the neighboring States of Greece, thronged the broad 
avenue of the Pirseus; women, carrying upon their 
heads olive jars, baskets of grapes, and vases of water, 
glided among the crowd, with that majestic motion so 
peculiar to the peasantry in countries where this cus- 
tom prevails. 

Philothea drew the folds of her veil more closely, 
and clung timidly to her venerable protector. But 
neither this, nor increasing twilight, could screen the 
graceful maidens from observation. Athenians looked 
back as they passed, and foreigners paused to inquire 
their name and parentage. 

In a few moments they were under the walls of the 
Acropolis, walking in the shadow of the olive groves, 
among god-like statues, to which the gathering ob- 


PHILOTHEA. 


23 


scurity of evening gave an impressive distinctness — 
as if the light departing from the world, stood petrified 
in marble. 

Thence they entered the inner Ceramicus, where 
Aspasia resided. The building, like all the private 
houses of Athens, had a plain exterior, strongly con- 
trasted by the magnificence of surrounding temples, 
and porticos. At the gate, an image of Hermes looked 
toward the harbor, while Phoebus, leaning on his lyre, 
appeared to gaze earnestly at the dwelling. 

A slave, stationed near the door, lighted the way to 
the apartment where Aspasia was reclining, with a 
Doric harp by her side, on which she had just been 
playing. The first emotion she excited was surprise 
at the radiant and lucid expression which mantled her 
whole face, and made the very blood seem eloquent. 
In her large dark eye the proud consciousness of in- 
tellect was softened only by melting voluptuousness; 
but something of sadness about her beautiful mouth 
gave indication that the heavenly part of her nature 
still struggled with earth-born passions. 

A garland of golden leaves, with large drops of pearl, 
was interwoven among the glossy braids of her hair, 
and rested on her forehead. 

She wore a robe of rich Milesian purple, the folds of 
which were confined on one shoulder within a broad 
ring of gold, curiously wrought; on the other they 
were fastened by a beautiful cameo, representing the 
head of Pericles. The crimson couch gave a soft flush 
to the cheek and snowy arm that rested on it; and, for 
a moment, even Philothea yielded to the enchantment 
of her beauty. 

Full of smiles, Aspasia rose and greeted Eudora, 
with the ease and gracefulness of one long accustomed 


24 


PHILOTHEA. 


to homage; but when the venerable philosopher intro- 
duced his child, she felt the simple purity emanating 
from their characters, and something of embarrassment 
mingled with her respectful salutation. 

Her own face was uncovered, contrary to the cus- 
tom of Grecian women ; and after a few of those casual 
remarks which everywhere serve to fill up the pauses 
in conversation, she playfully seized Eudora’s veil, 
and threw it back over her shoulders. She would 
have done the same to Philothea; but the maiden 
placed her hand on the half-transparent covering, and 
said, “With your leave, lady, I remain veiled.” 

“But I cannot give my leave,” rejoined Aspasia, 
playfully, still keeping her hold upon the veil: “I 
must see this tyrannical custom done away in the free 
commonwealth of Athens. All the matrons who visit 
my house agree with me in this point; all are willing 
to renounce the absurd fashion.” 

“But in a maiden it would be less seemly,” an- 
swered Philothea. 

Thus resisted, Aspasia appealed to Anaxagoras to 
exert his authority; adding, in an audible whisper, 
“ Phidias has told me that she is as lovely as the im- 
mortals.” 

With a quiet smile, the aged philosopher replied, 
“ My child must be guided by her own heart. The 
gods have there placed an oracle, which never misleads 
or perplexes those who listen to it.” 

Aspasia continued, “ From what I had heard of you, 
Philothea, I expected to find you above the narrow 
v prejudices of Grecian women. In you, I was sure of 
a mind strong enough to break the fetters of habit. 
Tell me, my bashful maiden, why is beauty given us, 
unless it be like sunlight to bless and gladden the 
world? ” 


PHILOTHEA. 


25 ' 


“Lady,” replied the gentle recluse, “beauty is 
given to remind us that the soul should be kept as fair 
and perfect in its proportions as the temple in which it 
dwells.” 

“ You are above ordinary women,” said Aspasia; 
“ for you hear me allude to your beauty without affect- 
ing to contradict me, and apparently without pleasure .* 1 

The sound of voices in earnest conversation an- 
nounced the approach of Pericles with visiters. “ Come 
to my room for a few moments,” said Aspasia, address- 
ing the maidens: “ I have just received a magnificent 
present, which I am sure Eudora will admire. As she 
spoke, she led the way to an upper apartment. When 
they opened the door, a soft light shone upon them 
from a lamp, which a marble Psyche shaded with her 
hand, as she bent over the couch of Eros. 

“ Now that we are quite sure of being uninterrupted,, 
you cannot refuse to raise your veil,” said Aspasia. 

Simply and naturally, the maiden did as she was 
desired; without any emotion of displeasure or exulta- 
tion at the eager curiosity of her hostess. 

For an instant, Aspasia stood rebuked and silent in 
the presence of that serene and holy beauty. 

With deep feeling she exclaimed, “Maiden, Phidias 
spoke truly. Even thus do we imagine the immor- 
tals! ” 

A faint blush gleamed on Philothea’s face; for her 
meek spirit was pained by a comparison with things 
divine; but it passed rapidly; and her whole soul 
became absorbed in the lovely statues before her. 

Eudora’s speaking glance seemed to say, “I knew 
her beauty would surprise you!” and then, with the 
eager gayety of a little child, she began to examine the 
gorgeous decorations of the room, 
a 


26 


PHILOTHEA. 


The couch rested on two sphinxes of gold and ivory, 
over which the purple drapery fell in rich and massive 
folds. In one corner, a pedestal of Egyptian marble 
supported an alabaster vase, on the edge of which 
were two doves, exquisitely carved, one just raising 
his head, the other stooping to drink. On a similar 
stand, at the other side, stood a peacock, glittering with 
many colored gems. The head lowered upon the 
breast formed the handle; while here and there, among 
the brilliant tail feathers, appeared a languid flame 
slowly burning away the perfumed oil, with which the 
bird was filled. 

Eudora clapped her hands, with an exclamation of 
delight. “ That is the present of which I spoke,” said 
Aspasia, smiling: “It was sent by Artaphernes, the 
Persian, who has lately come to Athens to buy pictures 
and statues for the great king.” 

As Philothea turned towards her companion, she met 
Aspasia *s earnest gaze. “Had you forgotten where 
you were ? ” she asked. 

“No, lady, I could not forget that,” replied the 
maiden. As she spoke, she hastily withdrew her eyes 
from an immodest picture, on which they had acciden- 
tally rested; and, blushing deeply, she added, “But 
there is something so life-like in that slumbering mar- 
ble, that for a moment I almost feared Eudora would 
waken it.” 

“You will not look upon the picture,” rejoined 
Aspasia; “ yet it relates a story of one of the gods you 
reverence so highly. I am told you are a devout be- 
liever in these fables? ” 

“When fiction is the robe of truth, I worship it for 
what it covers,” replied Philothea; “ but I love not 
the degrading fables which poets have made concerning 


PBILOTHEA. 


27 


divine beings. Such were not the gods of Solon; for 
such the wise and good can never be, in this world or 
another.” 

“Then you believe in a future existence?” said 
Aspasia, with an incredulous smile. 

With quiet earnestness, Philothea answered: “Lady, 
the simple fact that the human soul has ever thought 
of another world, is sufficient proof that there is one; 
for how can an idea be formed by mortals, unless it has 
first existed in the divine mind ? ” 

“ A reader of Plato, I perceive! ” exclaimed Aspa- 
sia: “ They told me I should find you pure and child- 
like; with a soul from which poetry sparkled, like 
moonlight on the waters. I did not know that wisdom 
and philosophy lay concealed in its depths.” 

“ Is there any other wisdom than true simplicity and 
innocence? ” asked the maiden. 

With a look of delighted interest, Aspasia took her 
arm familiarly; saying, “You and I must be friends. 
I shall not grow weary of you, as I do of other women. 
Not of you, dearest,” she added in an under tone, 
tapping Eudora’s cheek. “You must come here con- 
stantly, Philothea. Though I am aware,” continued 
she, smiling, “ that it is bad policy for me to seek a 
guest who will be sure to eclipse me.” 

•“Pardon me, lady,” said Philothea, gently disen- 
gaging herself: “Friendship cannot be without sym- 
pathy.” 

A sudden flush of anger suffused Aspasia’s counte- 
nance ; and Eudora looked imploringly at her friend, 
as she said, “You love me, Philothea; and I am sure 
we are very different.” 

“ I crave pardon, ” interrupted Aspasia, with haughty 
impatience. “ I should have remembered that the con- 


28 


PHILOTHEA. 


versation prized by Pericles and Plato, might appear 
contemptible, to this youthful Pallas, who so proudly 
seeks to conceal her precious wisdom from ears pro- 
fane.” 

“Lady, you mistake me,” answered Philothea, 
mildly: “Your intellect, ycur knowledge, are as far 
above mine as the radiant stars are above the flowers 
of the field. Eesides, I never felt contempt for any- 
thing to which the gods had given life. It is impossible 
for me to despise you; but I pity you.” 

“Pity!” exclaimed Aspasia, in a piercing tone, 
which made both the maidens start. “Am I not the 
wife of Pericles, and the friend of Plato? Has not 
Phidias modelled his Aphrodite from my form ? Is there 
in all Greece a poet who has not sung my praises? 
Is there an artist who has not paid me tribute? 
Phoenicia sends me her most splendid manufactures 
and her choicest slaves; Egypt brings her finest linen 
and her metals of curious workmanship; w'hiie Persia 
unrolls her silks, and pours out her gems at my feet. 
To the remotest period of time, the world, — aye, the 
world, — maiden, will hear of Aspasia the beautiful 
and the gifted! ” 

For a moment, Philothea looked on her, silently and 
meekly, as she stood with folded arms, flushed brow, 
and proudly arched neck. Then, in a soft, sad voice, 
she answered: “ Aye, lady — hut will your spirit hear 
the echo of your fame, as it rolls back from the now 
silent shores of distant ages? ” 

“You utter nonsense!” said Aspasia, abruptly: 
“ There is no immortality but fame. In history, the 
star of my existence will never set — but shine bril- 
liantly and forever in the midst of its most glorious 
constellation ! ” 


TPHILOTHEA. 


29 


After a brief pause, Philothea resumed: “ But when 
men talk of Aspasia the beautiful and the gifted, will 
they add, Aspasia the good — the happy — the inno- 
cent? 5 5 

The last word was spoken in a low, emphatic tone. 
A slight quivering about Aspasia’s lips betrayed emotion 
crowded back upon the heart; while Eudora bowed 
her head, in silent confusion, at the bold admonition of 
her friend. 

With impressive kindness, the maiden continued: 
“ Daughter of Axiochus, do you never suspect that the 
homage you receive is half made up of selfishness and 
impurity? This boasted power of intellect — this gid- 
dy triumph of beauty — what do they do for you ? Do 
they make you happy in the communion of your own 
heart? Do they bring you nearer to the gods? Do 
they make the memory of your childhood a gladness, 
or a sorrow? ” 

Aspasia sank on the couch, and bowed her head 
upon her hands. For a few moments, the tears might 
be seen stealing through her fingers; while Eudora, 
with the ready sympathy of a warm heart, sobbed 
aloud. 

Aspasia soon recovered her composure. “ Phi- 
lothea,” she said, “you have spoken to me as no one 
ever dared to speak; but my own heart has some- 
times uttered the truth less mildly. Yesterday 1 
learned the same lesson from a harsher voice. A 
Corinthian sailor pointed at this house, and said, 

* There dwells Aspasia, the courtezan, who makes her 
wealth by the corruption of Athens! ’ My very blood 
boiled in my veins, that such an one as he could give 
me pain. It is true the illustrious Pericles has made 
me his wife; but there are things which even his power, 


3 * 


30 


PHILOTHEA. 


and my own allurements fail to procure. Ambitious 
women do indeed come here to learn how to he distin- 
guished; and the vain come to study the fashion of my 
garments, and the newest braid of my hair. Eut the 
purest and best matrons of Greece refuse to be my 
guests. You, Philothea, came reluctantly — and be- 
cause Pericles would have i so. Yes,” she added, 
the tears again starting to her eyes — “ I know the 
price at which I purchase celebrity. Poets will sing 
of me at feasts, and orators describe me at the games; 
but what will that be to me, when I have gone into 
the silent tomb ? Like the lifeless guest at Egyptian 
tables, Aspasia will be all unconscious of the garlands 
she wears. 

Philothea, you think me vain, and heartless, and 
wicked; and so I am. But there are moments when 
I am willing that this tongue, so praised for its elo- 
quence, should be dumb forever — that this beauty, 
which men worship, should be hidden in the deepest 
recesses of barbarian forests — so that I might again 
be as I was, when the sky was clothed in perpetual 
glory, and the earth wore not so sad a smile as now. 
Oh, Philothea! would to the gods, I had your purity 
mid goodness! But you despise me; — for you are 
innocent.” 

Soothingly, and almost tearfully, the maiden replied: 
4 ‘No, lady; such were not the feelings which made 
me say we could not be friends. It is because we 
have chosen different paths; and paths that never ap- 
/ proach each other. _ What to you seem idle dreams, 
are to me sublime realities, for which I would gladly 
exchange all that you prize in existence. You live for 
immortality in this world; I live for immortality in 
another. The public voice is your oracle; I listen to 


PH1L0THEA. 


31 


the whisperings of the gods in the stillness of my own </ 
heart ; and never yet, dear lady, have those two oracles 
spoken the same language.” 

Then falling on her knees, and looking up earnestly, 
she exclaimed, “Beautiful and gifted one! Listen to 
the voice that tries to win you back to innocence and 
truth! Give your heart up to it, as a little child led 
by its mother’s hand! Then shall the flowers again 
breathe poetry, and the stars move in music.” 

“ It is too late,” murmured Aspasia: “ The flowers 

are scorched — the stars are clouded. I cannot again 

© 

be as I have been.” 

“Lady, it is never too late,” replied Philothea: 

“ You have unbounded influence — use it nobly! No 
longer seek popularity by flattering the vanity, or min- 
istering to the passions of the Athenians. Let young 
men hear the praise of virtue from the lips of beauty. 

Let them see religion married to immortal genius. 

Tell them it is ignoble to barter the heart’s wealth for 
heaps of coin — that love weaves a simple wreath of 
his own bright hopes stronger than massive chains of 
gold. Urge Pericles to prize the good of Athens more 
than the applause of its populace — to value the per- 
manence of her free institutions more than the splendor 
of her edifices. Oh, lady, never, never, had any mor- 
tal such power to do good! ” 

Aspasia sat gazing intently on the beautiful speaker, 
whose tones grew more and more earnest as she pro- 
ceeded. 

“Philothea,” she replied, “you have moved me 
strangely. There is about you an influence that can- 
not be resisted. It is like what Pindar says of music; 
if it does not give delight, it is sure to agitate and op- 
press the heart. From the first moment you spoke, I 


32 


PHILOTHEA. 


have felt this mysterious power. It is as if some 
superior being led me back, even against my will, to 
the days of my childhood, when I gathered acorns from 
the ancient oak that shadows the fountain of Byblis, 
or ran about on the banks of my own beloved Meander, 
filling my robe with flowers.” 

There was silence for a moment. Eudora smiled 
through her tears, as she whispered, “ Now, Philothea, 
sing that sweet song Anaxagoras taught you. He 
too is of Ionia; and Aspasia will love to hear it.” 

The maiden answered with a gentle smile, and 
began to warble the first notes of a simple bird-like 
song. 

Hush! ” said Aspasia, putting her hand on Philo- 
thea’s mouth, and bursting into tears — “It was the 
first tune I ever learned; and I have not heard it since 
my mother sung it to me.” 

“Then let me sing it, lady,” rejoined Philothea: 
“ It is good for us to keep near our childhood. In 
leaving it, we wander from the gods.” 

A slight tap at the door made Aspasia start up sud- 
denly; and stooping over the alabaster vase of water, 
she hastened to remove all traces of her tears. 

As Eudora opened the door, a Byzantian slave bowed 
low, and waited permission to speak. 

“ Your message?” said Aspasia, with queenly 
brevity. 

“ If it please you, lady, my master bids me say he 
desires your presence.” 

“We come directly,” she replied; and with another 
low bow, the Byzantian closed the door. 

Before a mirror of polished steel, supported by ivory 
graces, Aspasia paused to adjust the folds of her robe, 
and replace a curl that had strayed from its golden 
fillet. 


PHILOTHEA. 


33 


As she passed, she continued to look back at the 
reflection of her own fair form, with a proud glance 
which seemed to say, “ Aspasia is herself again! ” 
Philothea took Eudora’s arm, and folding her veil 
about her, with a deep sigh followed to the room 
below. 


CHAPTER III. 


All is prepared — the table and the feast — 

With due appurtenance of clothes and cushions. 

Chaplets and dainties of all kinds abound : 

Here rich perfumes are seen — there cakes and cates 
Of every fashion ; cakes of honey, cakes 
*Of sesamus, and cakes of unground corn : 

What more ? A troop of dancing women fair, 

And minstrels who may chaunt ns sweet Harmodiua. 

Aristophanes. 

The room in which the guests were assembled, was 
furnished with less of Asiatic splendor than the private 
apartment of Aspasia; but in its magnificent simplicity, 
there was a more perfect manifestation of ideal beauty. 
It was divided in the middle by eight Ionic columns 
alternately of Phrygian and Pentelic marble. Between 
the central pillars stood a superb statue from the hand 
of Phidias, representing Aphrodite guided by love and 
crowned by the goddess of Persuasion. Around the 
walls were Phoebus and Hermes in Parian marble, and 
the nine Muses in ivory, A fountain of perfumed 
water from the adjoining room diffused coolness and 
fragrance as it passed through a number of concealed 
pipes, and finally flowed into a magnificent vase, sup- 
ported by a troop of Naiades. 

In a recess stood the famous lion of Myron, sur- 
rounded by infant loves, playing with his paws, climbing 
his back, and decorating his neck with garlands. This 
beautiful group seemed actually to live and move in the 
clear light and deep shadows derived from a silver lamp 
suspended above. 


PHILO THEA. 


35 


The walls were enriched with some of the choicest 
paintings of Apollodorus, Zeuxis, and Polygnotus. 
Near a fine likeness of Pericles, by AristoUiis, was 
Aspasia, represented as Chloris scattering flowers over 
the earth, and attended by winged Hours. 

It chanced that Pericles himself reclined beneath 
his portrait, and though political anxiety had taken 
from his countenance something of the cheerful fresh- 
ness which characterized the picture, he still retained 
the same elevated beauty — the same deep, quiet ex- 
pression of intellectual power. At a short distance, 
with his arm resting on the couch, stood his nephew 
Alcibiades, deservedly called the handsomest man in 
Athens. He was laughing with Hermippus, the comic 
writer, whose shrewd, sarcastic and mischievous face 
was expressive of his calling. Phidias slowly paced 
the room, talking of the current news with the Persian 
Artaphernes. Anaxogoras reclined near the statue of 
Aphrodite, listening and occasionally speaking to Plato, 
who leaned against one of the marble pillars, in earnest 
conversation with a learned Ethiopian. 

The gorgeous apparel of the Asiatic and African 
guests, contrasted strongly with the graceful simplicity 
of Grecian costume. A saffron-colored mantle and 
a richly embroidered Median vest glittered on the person 
of the venerable Artaphernes. Tithonus, the Ethio- 
pian, wore a skirt of ample folds, which scarcely fell 
below the knee. It was of the glorious Tyrian hue, 
resembling a crimson light shining through transparent 
purple. The edge of the garment was curiously 
wrought with golden palm leaves. It terminated at 
the waist in a large roll, twined with massive chains 
of gold, and fastened by a clasp of the far-famed 
Ethiopian topaz. The upper part of his person was 


36 


PHILOTHEA. 


uncovered and unornamented, save by broad bracelets 
of gold, which formed a magnificent contrast with the 
sable color of his vigorous and finely-proportioned 
limbs. 

As the ladies entered, the various groups came for- 
ward to meet them; and all were welcomed by Aspasia 
with earnest cordiality and graceful self-possession. 
While the brief salutations were passing, Hipparete, 
the wife of Alcibiades, came from an inner apartment, 
where she had been waiting for her hostess. She was 
a fair, amiable young matron, evidently conscious of 
her high rank. The short blue tunic, which she wore 
over a lemon-colored robe, was embroidered with 
golden grasshoppers; and on her forehead sparkled a 
jewelled insect of the same species. It was the emblem 
of unmixed Athenian blood; and Hipparete alone, of all 
the ladies present, had a right to wear it. Her man- 
ners were an elaborate copy of Aspasia; but deprived 
of the powerful charm of unconsciousness, which flowed 
like a principle of life into every motion of that beauti- 
ful enchantress. 

The momentary silence, so apt to follow introduc- 
tions, was interrupted by an Ethiopian boy, who, at a 
signal from Tithonus, emerged from behind the col- 
umns, and kneeling, presented to Aspasia a beautiful 
box of ivory, inlaid with gold, filled with the choicest 
perfumes. The lady acknowledged the costly offering 
by a gracious smile, and a low bend of the head toward 
the giver. 

The ivory was wrought with exquisite skill, repre- 
senting the imaginary forms of the constellations, stud- 
ded with golden stars. The whole rested on a golden 
image of Atlas, bending beneath the weight. The box 
was passed from hand to hand, and excited universal 
admiration. 


‘PHI LOTHEAv 


37 


* 1 Were these figures carved by an artist of your own 
country? ” asked Phidias. 

With a smile, Tithonus replied, “ You ask the ques- 
tion because you see a Grecian spirit in those forms. 
They were indeed fashioned by an Ethiopian ; but one 
who had long resided in Athens.” 

“There is truly a freedom and variety in these 
figures, which I have rarely seen even in Greece,” 
rejoined Phidias; “and I have never met with those 
characteristics in Ethiopian or Egyptian workman- 
ship.” 

“ They belong not to the genius of those countries,” 
answered Tithonus: “ Philosophy and the arts are but 
a manifestation of the intelligible ideas that move the 
public mind ; and thus they become visible images of 
the nations whence they emanate. The philosophy of 
the East is misty and vast — with a gleam of truth here 
and there, resting like sunlight on the edge of a dark 
and mighty cloud. Hence our architecture and statuary 
is massive, and of immense proportions. Greece is 
free — therefore she has a philosopher who sees that 
every idea must have a form, and in every form dis- 
covers its appropriate life. And because philosophy 
has perceived that the principle of vitality and beauty 
flows from the divine mind into each and every earthly 
thing, therefore Greece has a sculptor who can mould 
his thoughts into marble forms, from which the free 
grandeur of the soul emanates like a perpetual pres- 
ence.” As he spoke, he bowed low to Plato and 
Phidias. 

“The gigantic statues of Sicily have fair propor- 
tions,” said Plato; “ and they have life; but it is life 
in deep repose. There is the vastness of eternity, 
without the activity of time.” 


4 


8 


PHILOTHEA. 


“The most ancient statuary of all nations is an 
image of death; not of sleeping energy,” observed 
Aspasia. “The arms adhere rigidly to the sides, the 
feet form one block; and even in the face, the divine 
ideal seems struggling hard to enter the reluctant 
form. But, thanks to Pygmalion of Cyprus, we now 
have the visible impress of every passion carved in 
stone. The spirit of beauty now flows freely into the 
harmonious proportions, even as the oracle is filled 
by the inspiration of the god. Now the foot bounds 
from the pedestal, the finger points to the stars, and 
life breathes from every limb. But in good time the 
Lybian pipe warns us that the feast is ready. We 
must not soar too far above the earth, while she offers 
us the richest treasures of her fruit-trees and vines.” 

“Yet it is ever thus, when Plato is with us,” ex- 
claimed Pericles. “He walks with his head among 
the stars — and, by a magic influence, we rise to his 
elevation, until we perceive the shadows of majestic 
worlds known in their reality only to the gods. As 
the approach of Phoebus fills the priestess with pro- 
phecy, so does this son of Phoebus impart something 
of his own eloquence to all who come within its 
power.” 

“You speak truly, O Pericles,” replied Tithonus; 
“ but it is a truth felt only by those who are in some 
measure worthy to receive it. Aspasia said wisely, 
that the spirit of beauty flows in, only where the pro- 
portions are harmonious. The gods are ever with us, 
but few feel the presence of the gods.” 

Philothea, speaking in a low tone to Eudora, added, 
“ And Plato rejoices in their glorious presence; not 
only because he walks with his head among the stars, 
but because he carries in his heart a blessing for every 
little child.” 


PK1L0THEA. 


39 


These words, though spoken almost in a whisper, 
reached the ear of the philosopher himself; and he 
turned toward the lovely speaker with a beaming 
glance, which distinctly told that his choicest bless- 
ings were bestowed upon spirits pure and gentle as 
her own. 

Thus conversing, the guests passed between the 
marble columns, and entered that part of the room 
where the banquet was prepared. Aspasia filled a 
golden basket with Athenian olives, Phoenician dates, 
and almonds of Naxos, and whispering a brief invoca- 
tion, placed it on a small altar, before an ivory image 
of Demeter, which stood in the midst of the table. 
Seats covered with crimson cloth were arranged at the 
end of the couches, for the accommodation of women; 
but the men reclined in Asiatic fashion, while beautiful 
damsels sprinkled perfumes on their heads, and offered 
water for their hands in vases of silver. 

In choosing one to preside over the festivities of the 
evening, the lot fell upon Tithonus; but he gracefully 
declined the office, saying it properly belonged to an 
Athenian. 

“ Then I must insist that you appoint your succes- 
sor,” said Aspasia. 

“Your command partakes little of the democracy of 
Athenian institutions,” answered he, smiling; “but I 
obey it cheerfully; and will, as most fitting, crown the 
wisest.” He arose, as he spoke, and reverentially 
placed the chaplet on the head of Plato. 

“ I will transfer it to the most beautiful,” rejoined 
the philosopher; and he attempted to place the garland 
on the brow of Alcibiades. But the young man pre- 
vented him, and exclaimed, “Nay — according to your 
own doctrines, O admirable Plato, wisdom should wear 
the crown; since beauty is but its outward form. 


40 


PHILffTHEA. 


Thus urged, Plato accepted the honors of the ban- 
quet; and taking a handful of garlands from the golden 
urn on which they were suspended, he proceeded to 
crown the guests. He first placed upon Aspasia’s 
head a wreath of bright and variegated flowers, among 
which the rose and the myrtle were most conspicu- 
ous. Upon Hipparete he bestowed a coronal of violets, 
regarded by the proud Athenians as their own peculiar 
flower. Philothea received a crown of pure white 
lilies. 

Aspasia, observing this, exclaimed, “Tell me, O 
Plato, how you knew that wreath, above all the others, 
was woven for the grand-daughter of Anaxagoras? ” 

“When I hear a note of music, can I not at once 
strike its chord? answered the philosopher: “Even 
as surely is there an everlasting harmony between the 
soul of man and the visible forms of creation. If there 
were no innocent hearts, there would be no white 
lilies.” 

A shadow passed over Aspasia’s expressive counte- 
nance; for she was aware that her own brilliant wreath 
contained not one purely white blossom. But her fea- 
tures had been well trained to conceal her sentiments; 
and her usual vivacity instantly returned. 

The remainder of the garlands were bestowed so 
rapidly, that there seemed scarcely time for deliberate 
choice; yet Pericles wore the oak leaves sacred to 
Zeus; and the laurel and olive of Phoebus rested on 
the brow of Phidias. 

A half mischievous smile played round Aspasia’s 
lips, when she saw the wreath of ivy and grape leaves 
placed on the head of Alcibiades. “ Son of Aristo,” 
she exclaimed, “the Phoenician Magi have given you 
good skill in divination. You have bestowed every 
garland appropriately.” 


philothea. 


41 


“It needed little magic,” replied Plato, “to know 
that the oaken leaves belonged to one whose eloquence 
is so often called Olympian; or that the laurel was due 
to him who fashioned Pallas Parthenia ; and Alcibiades 
would no doubt contend boldly with any man who pro- 
fessed to worship the god of vineyards with more zeal 
than himself.” 

The gay Athenian answered this challenge by sing- 
ing part of an Anacreontic ode often repeated during 
the festivities of the Dionysia: 

** To day I’ll haste to quaff my wine, 

As if to-morrow ne’er should shine; 

But if to-morrow comes, why then — 

I’ll haste to quaff my wine again. 

For death may come with brow unpleasant — 

May come when least we wish him present, 

And beckon to the sable shore, 

And grimly bid us — drink no more! ” 

This profane song was sung in a voice so clear and 
melodious, that Tithonus exclaimed, “You err, O 
Plato, in saying the tuneful soul of Marsyas has passed 
into the nightingale; for surely it remains with this 
young Athenian. Son of Clinias, you must be well 
skilled in playing upon the flute the divine airs of 
Mysian Olympus? ” 

“Not I, so help me Dionysus! ” lisped Alcibiades. 
“My music master will tell you that I ever went to 
my pipes reluctantly. I make ten sacrifices to eques- 
trian Poseidon, where I offer one gift to the Parnassian 
chorus.” 

“ Stranger, thou hast not yet learned the fashions of 
Athens,” said Anaxagoras, gravely. “Our young 
equestrians now busy themselves with carved chariots, 
and Persian mantles of the newest mode. They vie 


4 * 


42 


? H 1 L 0 T E A , 


with each other in costly wines; train doves to showef* 
luxuriant perfumes from their wings; and upon the 
issue of a contest between fighting quails, they stake 
sums large enough to endow a princess. To play upon 
the silver-voiced flute is Theban-like and vulgar. They 
leave that to their slaves.” 

“And why not leave laughter to the slaves? ” asked 
Hermippus; “since anything more than a graceful 
smile distorts the beauty of the features? I suppose 
bright eyes would weep in Athens, should the cheeks 
of Alcibiades be seen puffed out with vulgar wind- 
instruments. ” 

“And can you expect the youth of Athens to be 
Wiser than their gods?” rejoined Aspasia. “Pallas 
threw away her favorite flute, because Hera and 
Aphrodite laughed at her distorted countenance while 
she played upon it. It was but a womanly trick in the 
virgin daughter of Zeus.” 

Tithonus looked at the speaker with a slight ex- 
pression of surprise; which Hermippus perceiving, he 
thus addressed him in a cool, ironical tone: “ O Ethio- 
pian stranger, it is evident you know little of Athens; 
or you w T ould have perceived that a belief in the gods 
is more vulgar than flute-playing. Such trash is 
deemed fit for the imbecility of the aged, and the igno- 
rance of the populace. With equestrians and philoso- 
phers, it is out of date. You must seek for it among 
those who sell fish at the gates; or with the sailors at 
Piraeus and Phalerum.” 

“I have visited the Temple of Poseidon, in the 
Piraeus,” observed Aspasia; “ and I saw there a mul- 
titude of offerings from those who had escaped ship- 
wreck.” She paused slightly, and added, with a sig- 
nificant smile, “ but I perceived no paintings of those 


f H I L O T H £ A . 


43 


who had been wrecked, notwithstanding their supplica- 
tions to the god.” 

As she spoke, she observed that Pericles withdrew 
a rose from the garland wherewith his cup was crowned ; 
and though the action was so slight as to pass unob- 
served by others, she instantly understood the caution 
he intended to convey by that emblem sacred to the 
god of silence. 

At a signal from Plato, slaves filled the goblets with 
wine, and he rose to propose the usual libation to the 
gods. Every Grecian guest joined in the ceremony, 
singing in a recitative tone: 

Dionysus, this to thee* 

God of warm festivity! 

Giver of the fruitful vine, 

To thee we pour the rosy wine! 

Music, from the adjoining room, struck in with the 
chorus, and continued for some moments after it had 
ceased. 

For a short time, the conversation was confined to 
the courtesies of the table, as the guests partook of the 
delicious viands before them. Plato ate olives and bread 
only; and the water he drank was scarcely tinged with 
Lesbian wine. Alcibiades rallied him upon this abste- 
miousness; and Pericles reminded him that even his 
great pattern, Socrates, gave Dionysus his dues, while 
he worshipped the heaven-born Pallas. 

The philosopher quietly replied, “ I can worship the 
fiery God of Vintage only when married with Nymphs 
of the Fountain.” 

“ But tell me, O Anaxagoras and Plato,” exclaimed 
Tithonus, “ if, as Hermippus hath said, the Grecian 
philosophers discard the theology of the poets? Do ye 
not believe in the gods? ” 


44 


PfllLOTHEA, 


Plato would have smiled, had he not reverenced the 
simplicity that expected a frank and honest answer to a 
question so dangerous. Anaxagoras briefly replied, 
that the mind which did not believe in divine beings, 
must be cold and dark indeed. 

“ Even so,” replied Artaphernes devoutly ; “ blessed 
be Oromasdes, who sends Mithras to warm and en- 
lighten the world! But what surprises me most is, that 
you Grecians import new divinities from other coun- 
tries as freely as slaves, or papyrus, or marble. The 
sculptor of the gods will scarcely be able to fashion 
half their images.” 

“If the custom continues,” rejoined Phidias, “it 
will indeed require a life-time as long as that conferred 
upon the namesake of TithonilS.” 

“ Thanks to the munificence of artists, every deity 
has a representative in my dwelling,” observed As- 
pasia. 

“ I have heard strangers express their surprise that 
the Athenians have never erected a statue to the prin- 
ciple of Modesty,” said Hermippus. 

“ So much the more need that we enshrine her image 
in our own hearts,” rejoined Plato. 

The sarcastic comedian made no reply to this quiet 
rebuke. Looking toward Artaphernes, he continued: 
“Tell me, O servant of the great king, wherein the 
people of your country are more wise in worshipping 
the sun, than we who represent the same divinity in 
marble? ” 

“ The principles of the Persian religion are simple, 
steady, and uniform,” replied Artaphernes; “but the 
Athenian are always changing. You not only adopt 
foreign gods, but sometimes create new ones, and 
admit them into your theology by solemn act of the 


PHILOTHEA. 


45 


great council. These circumstances have led me to 
suppose that you worship them as mere forms. The 
Persian Magi do indeed prostrate themselves before 
the rising Sun ; but they do it in the name of Oro- 
masdes, the universal Principle of Good, of whom that 
great luminary is the visible symbol. In our sol- 
emn processions, the chariot sacred to Oromasdes 
precedes the horse dedicated to Mithras ; and there 
is deep meaning in the arrangement. The Sun and 
the Zodiac, the Balance and the Rule, are but em- 
blems of truths, mysterious and eternal. As the gar- 
lands we throw on the sacred fire feed the flame, rather 
than extinguish it, so the sublime symbols of our religion 
are intended to preserve, not to conceal, the truths 
within them.” 

“Though you disclaim all images of divinity,” re- 
joined Aspasia, “yet we hear of your Mithras pictured 
like a Persian King, trampling on a prostrate ox.” 

With a smile, Artaphernes replied, “I see, lady, 
that you would fain gain admittance to the Mithraic 
cave ; but its secrets, like those of your own Eleusis, 
are concealed from all save the initiated.” 

“ They tell us,” said Aspasia, “that those who are 
admitted to the Eleusinian mysteries die in peace, and 
go directly to the Elysian fields ; while the uninitiated 
wander about in the infernal abyss.” 

“ Of course,” said Anaxagoras, “ Alcibiades will go 
directly to Elysium, though Solon groped his way in 
darkness.” 

The old philosopher uttered this with imperturbable 
gravity, as if unconscious of satirical meaning ; but 
some of the guests could scarcely repress a smile, as 
they recollected the dissolute life of the young Athe- 
nian. 

“If Alcibiades spoke his real sentiments,” said 


46 


PHILO THEA. 


Aspasia, “ I venture to say he would tell us that the 
mystic baskets of Demeter, covered with long purple 
veils, contain nothing half so much worth seeing, as 
the beautiful maidens who carry them.” 

£C She looked at Pericles, and saw that he again 
cautioned her, by raising the rose toward his face, as 
if inhaling its fragrance. 

There was a brief pause ; which Anaxagoras inter- 
rupted, by saying, cc The wise can never reverence 
images merely as images. There is a mystical mean- 
ing in the Athenian manner of supplicating the gods 
with garlands on their heads, and bearing in their hands 
boughs of olive twined with wool. Pallas, at whose 
birth we are told gold rained upon the earth, was un- 
questionably a personification of wisdom. It is not to 
be supposed that the philosophers of any country con- 
sider the sun itself as anything more than a huge ball 
of fire ; but the sight of that glorious orb leads the con- 
templative soul to the belief in one Pure Intelligence, 
one Universal Mind, which in manifesting itself pro- 
duces order in the material world, and preserves the 
unconfused distinction of infinite varieties.” 

“ Such, no doubt, is the tendency of all reflecting 
minds,” said Phidias; “ but in general, the mere forms 
are worshipped, apart from the sacred truths they rep- 
resent. The gods we have introduced from Egypt are - 
regarded by the priests of that learned land as emblems 
of certain divine truths brought down from ancient 
times. They are like the Plermae at our doors, which 
outwardly appear to rest on inexpressive blocks of 
stone ; but when opened, they are found to contain 
beautiful statues of the gods within them. It is not so 
with the new fables which the Greeks are continually 
mixing with their mythology*. Pygmalion, as we all 
know, first departed from the rigid outline of ancient 


PHILOTHEA. 


47 


sculpture, and impressed life and motion upon marble. 
The poets, in praise of him, have told us that his ar- 
dent wishes warmed a statue into a lovely and breathing 
woman. The fable is fanciful and pleasing in itself ; 
but will it not hereafter be believed as reality? Might 
not the same history be told of much that is believed ? 
It is true,” added he, smiling, “ that I might be ex- 
cused for favoring a belief in images, since mortals are 
ever willing to have their own works adored.” 

“ What ! does Plato respond to the inquiries of Phid- 
ias ? ” asked Artaphernes. 

The philosopher replied : “ Within the holy myste- 
ries of our religion is preserved a pure and deep 
meaning, as the waters of Arethusa flow uncontaminated 
beneath the earth and the sea. I do not presume to 
decide whether all that is believed has the inward sig- 
nificancy. I have ever deemed such speculations un- 
wise. If the chaste daughter of Latona always appears 
to my thoughts veiled in heavenly purity, it is compara- 
tively unimportant whether I can prove that Acteon 
was torn by his dogs, for looking on the goddess with 
wanton eyes. Anaxagoras said wisely that material 
forms lead the contemplative mind to the worship of 
ideal good, which is in its nature immortal and divine. 
Homer tells us that the golden chain resting upon 
Olympus reaches even to the earth. Here we see but 
a few of the last links, and those imperfectly. We are 
like men in a subterranean cave, so chained that they 
can look only forward to the entrance. Far above and 
behind us is a glowing fire : and beautiful beings, of 
every form, are moving between the light and us poor 
fettered mortals. Some of these bright beings are 
speaking, and others are silent. We see only the 
shadows cast on the opposite wall of the cavern, by the 
reflection of the fire above ; and if we hear the echo of 


48 


PHILOTHEA. 


voices, we suppose it belongs to those passing shadows. 
The soul, in its present condition is an exile from the 
orb of light ; its ignorance is forgetfulness ; and what- 
ever we can perceive of truth, or imagine of beauty, is 
but a reminiscence of our former more glorious state of 
being. He who reverences the gods, and subdues his 
own passions, returns at last to the blest condition from 
which he fell. But to talk, or think, about these things 
with proud impatience, or polluted morals, is like pour- 
ing pure water into a miry trench; he who does it dis- 
turbs the mud, and thus causes the clear water to be- 
come defiled. When Odysseus removed his armor 
from the walls, and carried it to an inner apartment, 
invisible Pallas moved before him with her golden lamp, 
and filled the place with radiance divine. Telemachus, 
seeing the light, exclaimed, * Surely, my father, some 
of the celestial gods are present.’ With deep wisdom, 
the king of Ithaca replied, ‘ Be silent. Restrain your 
intellect, and speak not.’ ” 

“ I am rebuked, O Plato,” answered Phidias; “ and 
from henceforth, when my mind is dark and doubtful, I 
will remember that transparent drops may fall into a 
turbid well. Nor will I forget that sometimes, when I 
have worked on my statues by torch-light, I could not 
perceive their real expression, because I was carving 
in the shadow of my own hand.” 

“ Little can be learned of the human soul, and its 
connection with the Universal Mind,” said Anaxagoras: 
“ These sublime truths seem vague and remote, as 
Phceacia appeared to Odysseus like a vast shield floating 
on the surface of the distant ocean. 

“The glimmering uncertainty attending all such 
speculations, has led me to attach myself to the Ionic 
sect, who devote themselves entirely to the study of out- 
ward nature.” 


PHILOTHEA. 


49 


“And this is useful,” rejoined Plato: “The man 
who is to be led from a cave will more easily see what 
the heavens contain by looking to the light of the moon 
and the stars, than by gazing on the sun at noon-day.” 

Here Hermippus interrupted the discourse, by say- 
ing, “The son of Clinias does not inform us what he 
thinks of the gods. While others have talked, he has 
eaten.” 

“I am a citizen and a soldier — neither priest nor 
philosopher,” replied Alcibiades: “ With a strong arm 
and a willing heart to fight for my country, I leave 
others to settle the attributes of her gods. Enough 
for me, that I regularly offer sacrifices in their temples, 
and pour libations upon their altars. I care very little 
whether there be Elysian fields, or not. I will make 
an Elysium for myself, as long as Aspasia permits me 
to be surrounded by forms so beautiful, and gives me 
nectar like this to drink.” He replaced the goblet, 
from which he had drunk deeply, and exclaimed, “By 
Dionysus! they quaff nothing better than this in vo- 
luptuous Ionia!” 

“ Methinks a citizen and a soldier might find a more 
worthy model in Spartan, than in Ionian manners,” 
said Anaxagoras; “but the latter truly suits better 
with the present condition of Athens.” 

“A condition more glorious than that of any other 
people upon earth,” exclaimed Pericles, somewhat 
warmly: “The story of Athens, enthroned in her 
beauty and power, will thrill through generous hearts, 
long after other nations are forgotten.” 

“She is. like a torch sending forth its last bright 
blaze, before it is extinguished forever,” replied Anax- 
agoras, calmly: “ Where idle demagogues control the 
revenues of industrious citizens, the government can- 


5 


50 


PHILOTHEA, 


not long stand. It is a pyramid with the base upper- 
most.’ ’ 

“You certainly would not blame the wisdom of 
S Aristides, in allowing the poor, as well as the rich, the 
privilege of voting?” said Pericles. 

“ A moderate supply of wealth is usually the result 
of virtuous and industrious habits; and it should be 
respected merely for what it indicates,” rejoined 
Anaxagoras. “Aristides, and other wise men, in their 
efforts to satisfy the requirements of a restless people, 
'Z have opened a sluice, without calculating how it would 
be enlarged by the rushing waters, until the verv walls 
of the city are undermined by its power.” 

“But can the safety of the state be secured by 
1/ merely excluding the vicious poor?” said Plato. “Are 
there not among us vicious rich men, who would rashly 
vote for measures destructive of public good, if they 
could thereby increase their own wealth? He who 
exports figs to maintain personal splendor, when there 
is famine in Attica, has perhaps less public virtue than 
the beggar who steals them to avoid starvation/’ 

“But the vicious rich man will bribe the beggar to 
v vote as he dictates,” replied Anaxagoras; “ and thus 
\_his power of doing evil becomes two fold.” 

“ Your respect for permanent institutions makes you 
blind to the love of change, inherent and active in the 
human mind,” said Pericles. “If society be like the 
heaving ocean, those who would guide their vessels in 
safety, must obey the winds and the tides.” 

“ Nay, Pericles,” replied the old man, earnestly; 

“ if society be a tumultuous ocean, government should 
be its everlasting shores. If the statesman watches 
wind and tide only that his own bark may ride through 
the storm in safety, while every fresh wave sweeps a 


PHILOTHEA. 


51 


landmark away, it is evident that, sooner or later, the 
deluge must come.” 

The discourse was growing too serious to be agreea- 
ble to Pericles, who well knew that some of his best 
friends deemed he had injured the state, by availing 
himself too freely cf the democratic tendencies of the 
people. Plato, perceiving this, said, “If it please 
you, Anaxagoras, we will leave these subjects to be 
discussed in the Prytaneum and the Agoras. Fair and 
glorious is the violet-crowned city, and let us trust 
the gods will long preserve it so.” 

Thou hast well spoken, son of Aristo, 5 * replied 
Artaphernes: “ Much as I had heard of the glory and 
beauty of Athens, it far surpasses my hopes. Perhaps 
I find myself lingering to gaze on the Odeum more 
frequently than on any other of your magnificent edi- 
fices; not for its more impressive beauty; but because 
it is in imitation of our Great King’s Pavilion.” 

Plermippus looked up, and smiled with ill-natured 
significance; for Cratinus, the ribald, had openly de- 
clared in the theatre, that Pericles needed only to look 
in his mirror, to discover a model for the sloping roof 
of the Odeum. Athenian guests were indignant at be- 
ing thus reminded of the gross allusion to a deformity 
conspicuous in the head of their illustrious statesman; 
but Artaphernes, quite unconscious of his meaning, 
continued: “The noble structure is worthy of him 
who planned it. Yet the unpretending beauty of some 
of your small temples makes me feel more as if I were 
in the presence of a god. I have often marvelled 
what it is in those fair white columns, that charms me 
so much more than the palaces of the East, refulgent 
with gems and gold.” 

/ “ The beauty that lies within has ever a mysterious 




52 


PHILOTHEA. 


power,” answered Plato. “ An amethyst may beam in 
the eye of a statue ; but what, save the soul itself, can 
give the expression of soul? The very spirit of har- 
mony is embodied in the proportions of the Parthenon. 
It is marble music. I sometimes think the whole visi- 
ble beauty of creation is formed from the music of the 
Eternal; and that the various joys we feel are but the 
union of accordant notes in the great chorus of the 
universe. There is music in the airy dance; music in 
poetry; music in the glance of a beautiful woman; 
music in the involutions and inflexions of numbers; 
above all, there is music in light! And what Light is 
in this world, Truth is in that glorious world to which 
the mind of man returns after its long exile. Yes, 
there is music in light! Hence, Phoebus is god of the 
Sun and of the Lyre, and Memnon yields sweet sounds 
to welcome approaching day. For this reason, the 
disciples of Zoroaster and Pythagoras hail the rising 
sun with the melody of harps; and the birds pour forth 
their love of light in song. Perchance the order of 
the universe is revealed in the story of Thebes rising 
to the lyre of Amphion; and Ibycus might have spoken 
sublime truth, when he told of music in the motion of 
the everlasting stars.” 

Philothea had listened so earnestly, that for a mo- 
ment all other thoughts were expelled from her mind. 
She threw back her veil, and with her whole soul 
beaming from her face, she exclaimed, “ O Plato, I 
once heard the music of the stars! Ibycus” 

The ardent gaze of Alcibiades restored her to pain- 
ful consciousness; and, blushing deeply, she replaced 
her veil. Aspasia smiled; but Plato, with gentle rev- 
erence, asked, “What would Philothea say of the di- 
vine Ibycus? ” 


PHILOTHEA. 


53 


The timid maiden gave no reply; and the tears of 
innocent shame were seen falling fast upon her trem- 
bling arm. 

With that ready skill, which ever knows how to 
adapt itself to the circumstances of the moment, As- 
pasia gave a signal to her attendants, and at once the 
mingled melody of voices and instruments burst upon 
the ear. It was one of the enchanting strains of 
Olympus the Mysian; and every heart yielded to its 
influence. A female slave noiselessly brought Aspa- 
sia’s silver harp, and placed before her guests citharas 
and lyres of ivory inlaid with gold. One by one, new 
voices and instruments joined in the song ; and when the 
music ceased, there was a pause of deep and silent joy. 

“ Shame to the feast, where the praises of Harmo- 
dius are not sung,” said Pericles, smiling, as he looked 
toward Eudora. With rapid fingers the maiden 
touched her lyre, and sung the patriotic song of Cal- 
listratus: 

“ I’ll wreath my sword with myrtle, as brave Harmodius did, 

And as Aristogeiton his avenging weapon hid ; 

When they slew the haughty tyrant and regained our liberty. 

And, breaking down oppression, made the men of Athens free. 

“Thou art not, loved Harmodius, thou art not surely dead. 

But to some secluded sanctuary far away art fled ; 

With the swift-footed Achilleus, unmolested there to rest, 

And to rove with Diomedes through the islands of the blest 

“ I’ll wreath my sword with myrtle, as Aristogeiton did, 

And as the brave Harmodius his avenging weapon hid ; 

When on Athenae’s festival they aimed the glorious blow. 

And calling on fair freedom, laid the proud Hipparchus low. 

“Thy fame, beloved Harmodius, through ages still shall brighten. 
Nor ever shall thy glory fade, beloved Aristogeiton; 

Because your country’s champions ye nobly dared to be, 

And striking down the tyrant, made the men of Athens free.” 

5 * 


54 


PHILOTHEA. 


The exhilarating notes stirred every Grecian heart. 
Some waved their garlands in triumph, while others 
joined in the music, and kept time with branches of 
myrtle. 

“By Phoebus! a glorious song and divinely sung,” 
exclaimed Alcibiades: “But the lovely minstrel brings 
danger to our hearts in those sweet sounds, as Har- 
modius concealed his sword among myrtle leaves.” 

Hipparete blushed, and with a quick and nervous 
motion touched her cithara. With a nod and a smile, 
Aspasia said, “Continue the music, I pray you.” 
The tune being left to her own choice, the young 
matron sang Anacreon’s Ode to the Grasshopper. Her 
voice was not unpleasing; but it contrasted disadvan- 
tageous^ with the rich intonations of Eudora; and if 
the truth must be told, that dark-haired damsel was 
quite too conscious of the fact. 

Tithonus expressed an earnest desire to hear one of 
Pindar’s odes; and Philothea, urged by Aspasia, began 
with a quivering hand to accompany herself on the 
harp. Her voice was at first weak and trembling; and 
Plato, to relieve her timidity, joined in the music, 
which soon gushed forth, clear, deep, and melodious : 

“ Hail, celestial Poesy! 

Fair enchantress of mankind! 

Veiled in whose sweet majesty. 

Fables please the human mind. 

But, as year rolls after year, 

These fictitious charms decline; 

Then, O man, with holy fear. 

Write and speak of things divine. 

Of the heavenly natures say 
Nought unseemly, or profane — 

Hearts that worship and obey, 

Are preserved from guilty stain.” 


PHILOTHEA. 


55 


Oppressed with the grandeur of the music, and 
willing to evade the tacit reproach conveyed in the 
words, Aspasia touched her lyre, and, with mournful 
tenderness, sung Dance’s Hymn to her Sleeping 
Infant. Then, suddenly changing to a gayer measure, 
she sang, with remarkable sweetness and flexibility of 
voice: 

“ While our rosy fillets shed 
Blushes o’er each fervid head, 

With many a cup and many a smile 
The festal moments we beguile. 

And while the harp impassioned flings 
Tuneful rapture from the strings, 

Some airy nymph, with fluent limbs, 

Through the dance luxuriant swims, 

Waving in her snowy hand, 

The leafy Dionysian wand, 

Which, as the tripping wanton flies, 

Shakes its tresses to her sighs. 

At these words, a troop of graceful maidens, repre- 
senting the Zephyrs and the Hours, glided in and 
out, between the marble columns, pelting each other 
with roses, as they flew through the mazes of the 
dance. 

Presently, the music, more slow and measured in 
its cadence, announced the dance of Ariadne guiding 
her lover from the Labyrinth. In obedience to a 
signal from Aspasia, Eudora sprang forward to hold 
the silken cord, and Alcibiades darted forward to per- 
form the part of Theseus. Slowly, but gracefully as 
birds balancing themselves on the air, the maidens 
went through the difficult involutions of the dance. 
They smiled on each other, as they passed and re- 
passed; and though Eudora’s veil concealed the ex- 
pression of her features, Philothea observed, with an 


56 


PHILOTHEA. 


undefined feeling of apprehension, that she showed no 
tokens of displeasure at the brief whispers and frequent 
glances of Alcibiades. 

At last, Pericles bade the attendants bring forth the 
goblet of the Good Genius. A large golden bowl, 
around which a silver grape-vine twined its luxuriant 
clusters, was immediately placed before him, filled with 
the rich juices of the Chian grape. Then Plato, as 
king of the feast, exclaimed, “The cup of the Good 
Genius is filled. Pledge him in unmixed wine.” 

The massive goblet passed among all the guests; 
some taking a deep draught, and others scarcely 
moistening their lips with the wine. When the cere- 
mony was finished, Pericles said, “Now, if it pleases 
Hermippus, we should like to see him in the comic 
dance, for which he is so celebrated.” 

Philothea looked earnestly at her grandfather. He 
instantly understood her wishes, and bade farewell to 
Aspasia; urging the plea that his child was unused to 
late hours, and too timid to be in the streets of Athens 
without his protection. Phidias requested that Eudora 
might accompany them; and Hipparete likewise 
asked leave to depart. Aspasia bestowed gifts on her 
visiters, according to the munificent custom of the 
country. To Hipparete she gave a bracelet of pearls; 
to Philothea, a lyre of ivory and gold; and to Eudora, 
a broad clasp for her mantle, on which the car of 
Aphrodite drawn by sw^ans was painted in enamel, by 
Polygnotus, the inventor of the art. 

Alcibiades chose to remain at his wine; but slaves 
with torches were in readiness at the gates, and Hip- 
parete lived in the Ceramicus, within sight of Aspasia’s 
dwelling. 


57 


P1IIL0THEA. 

A rapid walk soon restored the maidens to their 
own peaceful homes. Philothea, with the consent of 
Anaxagoras, went to share the apartment of her friend; 
which, separated only by a small garden, was almost 
within hearing of her own. 


CHAPTER IV. 


*‘Much I dislike the beamless mind, 

Whose earthly vision, unrefined, 

Nature has never formed to see 
The beauties of simplicity ! 

Simplicity, the flower of Heaven, 

To souls elect by nature given.” 

Anacreos. 

As the maidens entered their apartment, Eudora 
rather abruptly dismissed Dione, the aged nurse, who 
had been waiting their arrival. Her favorite dog was 
sleeping on the couch; and she gave the little creature 
a hasty box on the ear, which made him spring sud- 
denly to the floor, and look up in her face, as if aston- 
ished at such ungentle treatment. 

Philothea stooped down and caressed the animal, 
with a slightly reproachful glance at her friend. 

“He was sleeping on my mantle,” said the petulant 
damsel. 

“His soft, white fur could not have harmed it,” re- 
joined her companion; “ and you know that Hylax him- 
self, as well as the mantle, was a gift from Philsemon. 

Eudora carelessly tossed the mantle over her em- 
broidery frame, from which it trailed along the dusty 
floor. Philothea looked earnestly in her face, unable 
to comprehend such wayward conduct. “ It is evident 
you do not want my company to-night,” she said; “ I 
will therefore return to my own apartment.” 

The peevish maiden slowly untied her sandal, with- 
out making any reply. Philothea’s voice trembled 


PHILOTHEA. 


59 


slightly, as she added, “Good night, Eudora. Tomor- 
row I hope you will tell me how I have offended you.” 

“Stay! Stay!” exclaimed the capricious damsel; 
and she laid her hand coaxingly on her friend’s arm. 
Philothea smiled a ready forgiveness. 

“ I know I am very petulant to-night,” said Eudora; 
but I do not believe you yourself could listen to Hip- 
parete without being vexed. She is so stupid, and so 
haughty. I dont’t think she spoke ten words to-night 
without having a grasshopper for one of them. She is 
so proud of her pure Athenian blood! Do you know 
she has resolved to employ a skillful artificer from Co- 
rinth to make her an ivory box just like the one Titho- 
nus gave Aspasia; but she took care to inform me that 
it should be inlaid with golden grasshoppers, instead 
of stars. A wise and witty device, is’t not? to put 
grasshoppers in the paws of transformed Calisto, and 
fasten them in the belt of Orion. The sky will be so 
purely Athenian, that Hipparete herself might conde- 
scend to be a constellation.” 

The talkative maiden laughed at her own conceit; 
and even her more serious companion could not refrain 
from a smile, as with untiring volubility she continued: 
“ Then she told me that she herself embroidered her 
grasshopper robe, and bade me admire the excellence 
of the pattern. She said Plato could not possibly have 
mistaken the wreath intended for her; knowing, as he 
did, that her father and mother were both descended 
from the most ancient families in Athens; and she re- 
peated a list of ancestors with names all ending in 
ippus and ippides. When, in answer to her question, I 
acknowledged that the ornament in her hair was beau- 
tiful, she told me she would gladly give me one like it, 
if it were proper for me to wear it. I do so detest the 


60 


r 


PHILOTHEA. 

• 

sight of that Athenian emblem! I would walk to the 
fields of Acharnm, on purpose to crush a grass- 
hopper.” 

“You put yourself in a singular passion for such a 
harmless insect,” replied Philothea, smiling. “ I hope 
there are none of them within hearing. You know the 
poets say they rose from the ashes of men, who, when 
the Muses first had existence, pined away for the love 
of song; and that after death they go to Parnassus, 
and inform the most ancient Calliope, the heavenly 
Urania, and the amorous Erato, concerning the con- 
versation of their votaries. If they are truly the chil- 
dren of song, they will indeed forget their own resent- 
ments; but your conversation would be so unlikely to 
make a favorable impression on the tuneful sisters, 
that it may be well for you the insects are now 
sleeping.” 

“ If the tattling tribe were all awake and listening,” 
replied Eudora, “ I would freely give them leave to 
report all I say against Astronomy, or Poetry, or Mu- 
sic. If this be the test, I am willing to be tried with 
Hipp arete at the court of the Muses. If she were less 
stupid, I think I could tolerate her pride. But I 
thought she would never have done with a long story 
about a wine-stain that nearly spoiled her new dove- 
colored robe ; the finest from the looms of Ecbatana; 
the pattern not to be matched in all Greece ; and As- 
pasia half wild to obtain one like it. She did not fail 
to inform me that the slave, who spilled the wine, was 
tied to the olive-tree in the garden, and whipped six 
J days in succession. I never saw her in my life that 
she did not remind me of being a slave.” 

“ Dearest Eudora,” said Philothea, “ how can you 
make yourself so unhappy on this subject? Was not 


PHILOTHEA, 


61 


Phidias, from the first hour he bought you, allowed you 
all the privileges of a daughter?” 

“Yes,” replied Eudora; “but the very circum- 
stance that I was bought with his money embitters it 
all. I do not thank him that I have been taught all 
which becomes an Athenian maiden; for I can never 
be an Athenian. The spirit and the gifts of freedom 
ill assort with the condition of a slave. I wish he had 
left me to tend goats and bear burdens, as other slaves 
do; to be beaten as they are beaten; starved as they 
are starved; and die as they die. I should not then 
have known my degradation. I would have made 
friends with the birds and the flowers, and never had a 
heart-wound from a proud Athenian fool.” 

Philothea laid her hand gently on her friend’s arm, 
and gazing on her excited countenance, she said, 
“ Eudora, some evil demon vexes you strangely to- 
night. Did I not know the whole tenor of your blame- 
less life, I should fear you were not at peace with your 
own conscience.” 

Eudora blushed deeply, and busily caressed the dog 
with her foot. 

In a mild, clear voice, Philothea continued: “ What 
now prevents you from making friendship with the 
birds and the flowers ? And why do you cherish a 
pride so easily wounded? Yes, it is pride, Eudora. 
It is useless disguise to call it by another name. The 
haughtiness of others can never make us angry, if we 
ourselves are humble. Besides, it is very possible 
that you are unjust to Hipparete. She might very 
naturally have spoken of her slave’s, carelessness, 
without meaning to remind you of bondage.” 

“ She did mean it,” replied Eudora, with angry em- 
phasis: “ She is always describing her pompous sacri- 
6 




62 


PHILOTHEA. 


fices to Demeter; because she knows I am excluded 
from the temple. I hope I shall live to see her proud 
heart humbled.” 

“ Nay, Eudora,” said Philothea, turning mournfully 
away: “Your feelings are strangely embittered; the 
calm light of reason is totally obscured by the wild 
torch-dance of your passions. Methinks hatred itself 
need wish Hipparete no worse fate than to be the wife 
of so bold and bad a man as Alcibiades.” 

“ Oh, Philothea! I wonder you can call him bold,” 
rejoined Eudora: “He looks steadily at no one; his 
eyelashes ever rest on his face, like those of a modest 
maiden.” 

“Aye, Eudora — but it is not the expression of a 
sinless heart, timidly retiring within the shrine of its 
own purity; it is the shrinking of a conscience that 
has something to conceal. Little as we know about 
the evils of the world, we have heard enough of Alci- 
biades, to be aware that Hipparete has much need to 
seek the protection of her patron goddess.” 

“ She had better worship in the temple of Helen at 
Therapne,” answered Eudora, sharply: “ The journey 
might not prove altogether hopeless; for that temple is 
said to confer beauty on the ugliest woman that ever 
entered it.” As the peevish damsel said this, she gave 
a proud glance at her own lovely person, in the mirror, 
before which a lamp was burning. 

Philothea had often seen her friend in petulant 
moods; but she had never before known her to evince 
so much bitterness, or so long resist the soothing in- 
fluence of kindness. Unwilling to contend with pas- 
sions she could not subdue, and would not flatter, she 
remained for some moments in serious silence. 

The expression of her countenance touched Eudora’s 


philothea. 


63 


quick feelings; and she said, in a humble tone, “ I 
know I am doing wrong, Philothea; but I cannot help 
it.” 

Pier friend calmly replied, “ If you believe you 
cannot help it, you deceive yourself; and if you do 
not believe it, you had better not have said it.” 

“ Now you are angry with me,” exclaimed the sen- 
sitive maiden; and she burst into tears. 

Philothea passed her arm affectionately round her 
waist, saying, “ I am not angry with you, Eudora; 
but while I love you, I cannot and ought not to love 
the bad feelings you cherish. Believe me, my dear 
friend, the insults of others can never make us 
wretched, or resentful, if all is right within our own 
hearts. The viper that stings us is always nourished 
within us. Moreover, I believe, dearest Eudora, that 
half your wrongs are in your own imagination. I too 
am a foreigner; but I have been very happy within 
the walls of Athens.” 

“ Because you have never been a slave,” retorted 
her companion; “ and you have shared privileges that 
strangers are seldom allowed to share. You have 
been one of the Canephorae; you have walked in the 
grand procession of the Panathenaia; and your statue 
in pure Pentelic marble, upholds the canopy over the 
sacred olive-tree. I know that your skillful fingers, 
and your surpassing beauty have deserved these hon- 
ors; but you must pardon me, if I do not like the proud 
Athenians quite so well as you do.” 

“I gratefully acknowledge the part I have been 
allowed to take in the sacred service of Pallas,” replied 
the maiden; “but I owe it neither to my beauty, nor 
my skill in embroidery. It was a tribute to that wise 
and good old man, my grandfather,” 


64 


PHILOTHEA, 


“ And I,” said Eudora, in a tone of deep melancho- 
ly, “have neither grandfather, parent, or brother to 
care for me.” 

“Who could have proved abetter protector than 
Phidias has been? ” inquired her gentle friend. 

“ Philothea, I cannot forget that I am his slave. 
What I said just now in anger, I repeat in sober sad- 
ness; it would be better for me to have a slave’s mind 
with a slave’s destiny.” 

“ I have no doubt,” replied Philothea, “ that Phidias 
continues to be your master merely that he may retain 
lawful power to protect you, until you are the wife of 
Philaemon.” 

“ Some slaves have been publicly registered as 
adopted children,” said Eudora. 

“ But in order to do that,” rejoined her friend, “ it 
is necessary to swear to their parentage; and yours 
is unknown. If it were not for this circumstance, I 
believe Phidias would be most willing to adopt you.” 

“No, Philothea — Phidias would do no such thing. 
He is good and kind. I know that I have spoken of 
him as I ought not to have spoken. But he is a proud 
man. He would not adopt a nameless orphan, found 
with a poor goatherd of Phelle. Had I descended 
from any of the princes conquered by Grecian valor, 
or were I even remotely allied with any of the illustri- 
ous men that Athens has ostracised, then indeed I 
might be the adopted daughter of Phidias.” After a 
short pause, she added, “ If he enfranchised me with- 
out adoption, I think I should have no difficulty in 
finding a protector;” and again the maiden gave a 
triumphant glance at her mirror. 

“ I am aware that your marriage with PhilEemon 
has only awaited the termination of these unfortunate 




PHILOTHEA. 


65 


law-suits,” replied Philothea: “ Though he is not rich, 
it cannot be very long before he is able to take you 
under his protection; and as soon as he has the power, 
he will have the disposition.” 

“Will he indeed!” exclaimed Eudora; and she 
trotted her little foot impatiently. 

“You are altogether mysterious to-night,” said 
Philothea: “ Has any disagreement arisen between you 
and Philaemon, during my absence? ” 

“He is proud, and jealous; and wishes me to be 
influenced by every whim of his,” answered the offended 
beauty. 

“ The fetters of love are a flowery bondage,” rejoined 
Philothea: “ Blossoms do not more easily unfold them- 
selves to -the sunshine, than woman obeys the object of 
her affections. Do n’t you remember the little boy we 
found piping so sweetly, under the great plane tree by 
the fountain of Callirhoe? When my grandfather 
asked him where he learned to play so well, he an- 
swered, with a look of wondering simplicity, that it 
‘ piped itself.’ Methinks this would be the reply of a 
foving woman, to one who inquired how her heart had 
learned submission. But what has Philmmon required, 
that you consider so unreasonable? ” 

“ He dislikes to have me visit Aspasia; and was 
angry because I danced with Alcibiades. 

“And did you tell him that you went to Aspasia’s 
house, in conformity with the express directions of 
Phidias ? ” inquired Philothea. 

“Why don’t you say of my master ?” interrupted 
Eudora, contemptuously. 

Without noticing the peevishness of this remark, 
her friend continued: “Are you quite sure that you 
have not been more frequently than you would have 
*6 


66 


PHILOTHEA, 


been, if you had acted merely in reluctant obedience 
to the will of Phidias. I am not surprised that Philae- 
mon is offended at your dancing with Alcibiades; as- 
suredly a practice, so boldly at variance with the cus- 
toms of the country, is somewhat unmaidenly.” 

“It is enough to be one man’s slave,” replied 
Eudora. “I will dance with whom I please. Alcibi- 
ades is the handsomest, and the most graceful, and the 
most agreeable man in Athens — at least everybody 
says so. I do n’t know why I should offend him to 
please Philaemon.” 

“ I thought there was a very satisfactory reason,” 
observed Philothea, quietly: “ Alcibiades is the hus- 
band of Hipparete, and you are the promised wife of 
Phikemon. I would not have believed the person who 
told me that Eudora seriously called Alcibiades the 
handsomest and most agreeable man in Athens.” 

“The sculptors think him pre-eminently beautiful,” 
answered Eudora; “ or they would not so often copy 
his statue in the sacred images of Hermes. Socrates 
applied Anacreon’s eloquent praise of Bathyllus to 
him, and said he saw in his lips ‘ Persuasion sleeping 
upon roses. ’ ” 

“That must have been in the days of youthful 
innocence,” replied Philothea: “ Surely his counte- 
nance has now nothing divine in its expression; though 
I grant the coloring rich, and the features regular. 
He reminds me of the Alexandrian coin; outwardly 
pleasing to the eye, but inwardly made of base metal. 
Urania alone confers the beauty-giving zone. The 
Temple of Aphrodite in the Piraeus is a fitting place for 
the portrait of Alcibiades; and no doubt he is w^ell 
pleased that the people go there in throngs to see him 
represented leaning on the shoulder of the shameless 
Nemea.” 


PHILOTHEA. 


67 


“ If Aristophon chose to paint him side by side 
with the beautiful Nemea, it is no fault of his,” said 
Eudora. 

“The artist would not have dared so to represent 
Plato, or Philaemon, or Paralus,” rejoined Philothea; 
“ nor would Alcibiades allow his picture thus to minis- 
ter to the corruption of the Athenians, if he had any 
perception of what is really beautiful. I confess, 
Eudora, it pained me to see you listen to his idle flat- 
tery. Pie worships every handsome woman, who will 
allow herself to be polluted by his incense. Like 
Anacreon, his heart is a nest for wanton loves. He is 
never without a brood of them — some trying their 
wings, some in the egg, and some just breaking the 
shell.” 

With slight resentment in her manner, Eudora 
answered: “Anacreon is the most beautiful of poets; 
and I think you speak too harshly of the son of 
Clinias.” 

“ I am sorry for you, if you can perceive the beau- 
tiful where the pure is wanting,” rejoined Philothea: 
“ You have changed, since my residence in the Acropo- 
lis. The cherub Innocence, that was once the ever- 
present deity in your soul, has already retired deeper 
within the shrine, and veils his face in presence of the 
vain thoughts you have introduced there. I fear As- 
pasia has made you believe that a passion for distinc- 
tion is but another name for love of the good, the true, 
and the beautiful. Eudora, if this false man has flat- 
tered you, believe me he is always ready to bestow 
the same upon others. He has told me that I was the 
loveliest of earthly objects; no doubt he has told you 
the same; but both cannot be true.” 

“ You! ” exclaimed her companion: “ Where could 


PHILOTHEA. 


he find opportunity to address such language to 
you? ” 

“ Where a better man would have had better 
thoughts,” replied Philothea: “ It was during the 
sacred festival of the Panathenaia. A short time before 
midnight it was my duty to receive the sacred basket 
from the hands of the priestess, and deposit it in the 
cave, beneath the Temple of Urania, in the gardens. 
Eucoline, the daughter of Agatho, attended me, car- 
rying a lighted torch. Having entered the cave, I 
held the torch while she took up the other sacred 
basket, which was there in readiness to be conveyed 
to the Parthenon; and we again stepped forth into the 
gardens. A flood of light streamed from the Temple, 
so clear and strong, that I could distinctly see the 
sacred doves, among the multitude of fragrant, roses — 
some sleeping in the shaded nooks, others fluttering 
from bush to bush, or wheeling round in giddy circles, 
frightened by the glare. Near a small lake in the 
centre of the gardens, stood Myron’s statue of the 
heavenly Urania, guiding a dove to her temple by a 
garland of flowers. It had the pure and placid expres- 
sion of the human soul, when it dwells in love and 
peace. In this holy atmosphere we paused for a mo- 
ment in silent reverence. A smiling band of infant 
hours came clustering round my memory, and softly 
folded themselves about my heart. I thought of those 
early days, when, hand in hand with Paralus, I walked 
forth in the spring-time, welcoming the swallows to our 
shores, and gathering fragrant thyme to feed my bees. 
We did not then know that bees and young hearts need 
none to take thought for their joy, but best gather their 
own sweet nourishment in sunlight and freedom. I 
remembered the helpless kid that Paralus confided to 


PHILOTHEA, 


69 


my care. When we dressed the little creature in 
wreaths, we mourned that flowers would not grow in 
garlands; for it grieved our childish hearts to see 
them wither. Once we found, in the crevice of a moss- 
covered rock, a small nest with three eggs. Paralus 
took one of them in his hand; and when we had ad- 
mired its beauty, he kissed it reverently, and returned 
it to its hiding-place. It was the natural outpouring 
of a heart brimfull of love for all things pure and sim- 
ple. Paralus ever lived in affectionate communion 
with the birds and the flowers. Firm in principle, but 
gentle in affection, he himself is like the rock, in whose 
bosom the loving bird found a sheltered nook, so 
motherly and safe, where she might brood over her 
young hopes in quiet joy.” 

The maiden’s heart had unconsciously followed her 
own innocent recollections, like the dove led by a gar- 
land; and for a few moments she remained silent in 
thoughtful tenderness. 

Eudora’s changeful and perturbed spirit had been 
soothed by the serene influence of her friend; and she 
too was silent for awhile. But the giddy images that 
had of late been reeling their wild dance through her 
brain, soon came back in glittering fantasy. 

“ Philothea! ” she exclaimed, abruptly, “You have 
not told me where you met Alcibiades? ” 

The maiden looked up suddenly, like an infant 
startled from sweet dreams by some rude noise. Re- 
covering from her surprise, she smiled, and said, 
“ Eudora, your question came upon me like his unex- 
pected and unwelcome presence in the sacred gardens. 
I told you that we stood by that quiet lake in meek 
reverence; worshipping, — not the marble image be- 
fore us, — but the Spirit of Beauty, that glides through 


70 


PHILOTHEA, 


the universe, breathing the invisible through visible 
forms, in such mysterious harmony. Suddenly Euco- 
line touched my arm with a quick and timid motion. I 
turned and saw a young man gazing earnestly upon us. 
Our veils, which had been thrown back while we looked 
at the statue, were instantly dropped; and we hastily 
retraced our steps. The stranger followed us, until we 
passed under the shade of the olive grove, within sight 
of the Propyloea. He then knelt, and attempting to 
hold me by the robe, poured forth the wildest protesta- 
tions of love. I called aloud for protection; and my 
voice was heard by the priests, who were passing in 
and out of the Acropolis, in busy preparation for the 
festival. The young man suddenly disappeared; but 
he was one of the equestrians, that shared in the so- 
lemnities of the night, and I again saw him as I took 
my place in the procession. I had then never seen 
Alcibiades; but when I met him to-night, I immediately 
recognized the stranger, who spoke so rudely in the 
olive-grove.” 

“ You must forgive me,” said Eudora, tc if I am not 
much disposed to blame mortal man for wishing to 
look upon your face a second time. Even Plato does 
homage to woman’s beauty.” 

“ True, Eudora; but there is reverence mingled 
with his homage. The very atmosphere around Alci- 
biades seemed unholy. I never before met such a 
glance; and the gods grant I may never meet such 
another. I should not have mentioned the occurrence, 
even to you, had I not wished to warn you how lightly 
this volatile Athenian can make love.” 

“I heard something of this before,” rejoined Eu- 
dora; “ but I did not know the particulars.” 

“How could you have heard of it?” inquired Phi- 
lothea, with an accent of strong surprise. 


PHILOTHEA. 


71 


“ Alcibiades had a more eager curiosity than your- 
self,” replied Eudora: “He soon ascertained the 
name of the lovely Canephorae, that he saw in the 
Gardens of Urania; and he has never ceased impor- 
tuning Aspasia, until you were persuaded to visit her 
house. ” 

The face, neck, and arms of the modest maiden 
were flushed with indignant crimson. “Was it for 
this purpose,” she said, “that I was induced to yield 
my own sense of propriety to the solicitations of 
Pericles? It is ever thus, when we disobey the gods to 
please mortals. How could I believe that any motive so 
harmless as idle curiosity induced that seductive and 
dangerous woman to urge me into her unhallowed 
presence.” 

“ I marvelled at your courage in talking to her as 
you did,” said Eudora. 

•“Something within impelled me,” replied Philo- 
thea, reverently; — “I did not speak from myself.” 

Eudora remained in serious silence for a moment; 
and then said, “ Can you tell me, Philothea, what you 
meant by saying you once heard the stars sing? Or 
is that one of those things concerning which you do 
not love to have me inquire? ” 

The maiden replied: “ As I sat at my grandfather’s 
feet, near the statue of Phoebus in the portico, at early 
dawn, I heard music, of soft and various sounds, float- 
ing in the air; and I thought perchance it was the fare- 
well hymn of the stars; or the harps of the Pleiades, 
mourning for their lost sister. — I had never spoken of 
it; but to-night I forgot the presence of all save Plato, 
when I heard him discourse so eloquently of music.” 

“And were you as unhappy as you expected to be 
during this visit?” inquired her friend. 


72 


PHILOTHEA. 


“ Some portions of the evening I enjoyed exceed- 
ingly,” replied Philothea. <{ I could have listened to 
Plato and Tithonus, until I grew old in their presence. 
Their souls seem to move in glowing moonlight, as if 
surrounded by bright beings from a better world.” 

Eudora looked thoughtfully in her friend’s face. 
“ It is strange,” said she, “ how closely you associate 
all earthly objects with things divine. I have heard 
Anaxagoras say that when you were a little child, you 
chased the fleeting sunshine through the fields, and 
called it the glittering wings of Phoebus Apollo, as he 
flew over the verdant earth. And still, dearest Philo- 
thea, your heart speaks the same language. Where- 
ever you look, you see the shining of god-like wings. 
Just so you talked of the moonlight, the other evening. 
To Hipparete, that solemn radiance would have sug- 
gested no thought except that lamp-light was more 
favorable to the complexion; and Hermippus would 
merely have rejoiced in it, because it saved him the 
expense of an attendant and torch, as he reeled home 
from his midnight revels. I seldom think of sacred 
subjects, except while I am listening to you; but they 
then seem so bright, so golden, so divine, that I mar- 
vel they ever appear to me like cold, dim shadows.” 

“ The flowers of the field are unlike, but each has a 
beauty of its own; and thus it is with human souls,” 
replied Philothea. 

For a brief space there was silence. — But Eudora, 
true to the restless vivacity of her character, soon 
seized her lyre, and carelessly touching the strings, 
she hummed one of Sappho’s ardent songs: 

“ More happy than the gods is he, 

Who soft-reclining sits by thee ; 

His ears thy pleasing talk beguiles, 


PHI LOTHE A. 


73 


His eyes thy sweetly-dimpled smiles. 

This, this, alas ! alarmed my breast. 

And robbed me of my golden rest.” 

Philothea interrupted her, by saying, “I should much 
lather hear something from the pure and tender- 
hearted Simonides.” 

But the giddy damsel, instead of heeding her re- 
quest, abruptly exclaimed, “Did you observe the 
sandals of Artaphernes sparkle as he walked? How 
richly Tithonus was dressed! Was it not a magnifi- 
cent costume?” 

Philothea, smiling at her childish prattle, replied, 
“ It was gorgeous, and well fancied; but I preferred 
Plato’s simple robe, distinguished only by the fineness 
of its materials, and the tasteful adjustment of its 
folds.” 

“ I never saw a philosopher that dressed so well as 
Plato,” said Eudora. 

“It is because he loves the beautiful, even in its 
minutest forms,” rejoined Philothea; “ in that respect, 
he is unlike the great master he reverences so highly.” 

“ Yes — men say it is a rare thing to meet either 
Socrates or his robe lately returned from the bath,” 
observed Eudora; “ yet, in those three beautiful 
statues, which Pericles has caused to be placed in the 
Propylcea, the philosopher has carved admirable dra- 
pery. He has clothed the Graces, though the Graces 
never clothed him. I wonder Aristophanes never 
thought of that jest. Notwithstanding his willingness 
to please the populace with the coarse wit current in 
the Agoras, I think it gratifies his equestrian pride to 
sneer at those who are too frugal to buy colored robes, 
and fill the air with delicious perfumes as they pass. 

7 


PHILOTHEA. 


u 

I know you seldom like the comic writers. W hat did 
you think of Germippus ?” 

“ His countenance and his voice troubled me, like 
the presence of evil,” answered Philothea: “ I rejoiced 
that my grandfather withdrew with us as soon as the 
goblet of the Good Genius passed round, and before he 
began to dance the indecent cordax. ” 

“ He has a sarcastic, suspicious glance that might 
sour the ripest grapes in Chios/’ rejoined Eudora. 
“ The comic writers are over-jealous of Aspasia’s 
preference to the tragic poets; and I suppose she per- 
mitted this visit to bribe his enmity ; as ghosts are said 
to pacify Cerberus with a cake. But hark! I hear 
Geta unlocking the outer gate. Phidias has returned; 
and he likes to have no lamp burn later than his own. 
We must quickly prepare for rest; though I am as 
wakeful as the bird of Pallas.” 

She began to unclasp her girdle, as she spoke, and 
something dropped upon the floor. 

Philothea was stooping to unlace her sandal, and 
she immediately picked it up. 

It was a beautiful cameo' of Alcibiades, with the 
quiver and bow of Eros. 

Eudora took it with a deep blush, saying, ec Aspasia 
gave it to me.” 

Her friend looked very earnestly in her face for a 
moment, and sighed as she turned away. It was the 
first time she had ever doubted Eudora’s truth. 





CHAPTER V. 


u Two several gates 

Transmit those airy phantoms. One of horn. 

And of sawn ivory one. Such dreams as pass 
The gate of ivory, prove empty sounds'; 

While others, through the polished horn effused. 

Whose eye soe’er they visit, never fail.” 

IIomer. 

The dwellings of Anaxagoras and Phidias were sep- 
arated by a garden entirely sheltered from public ob- 
servation. On three sides it was protected by the 
buildings, so as to form a hollow square; the remain- 
der was screened by a high stone wall. This garden 
was adorned with statues and urns, among which 
bloomed many choice shrubs and flowers. The entire 
side of Anaxagoras’ house was covered with a luxuri- 
ant grape-vine, which stretched itself out on the roof, 
as if enjoying the sunshine. The women’s apartments 
communicated by a private avenue, which enabled the 
friends to see each other .as conveniently as if they 
had formed one household. 

The morning after the conversation we have men- 
tioned, Philothea rose early, and returned to her own 
dwelling. As she passed through the avenue, she 
looked into the garden, and smiled to see, suspended 
by a small cord thrown over the wall, a garland fas- 
tened with a delicately-carved arrow, bearing the in- 
scription — “To Eudora, the most beautiful, most 
beloved.” 


76 


PHILOTHEA. 


Glad to assist in the work of reconciliation, she sepa- 
rated the wreath from the string, and carried it to 
her for whom it was intended. “Behold the offering 
of Philaemon!” she exclaimed, joyfully: “Dearest 
Eudora, beware how you estrange so true a heart.” 

The handsome maiden received her flowers with ev- 
ident delight, not unmingled with confusion; for she 
suspected that they came from a greater flatterer than 
Philaemon. 

Philothea returned to her Usual avocations, with 
anxiety somewhat lessened by this trifling incident. 

Living in almost complete seclusion, the simple- 
hearted maiden was quite unconscious that the new 
customs, introduced by Aspasia, had rendered indus- 
try and frugality mere vulgar virtues. But the re- 
straint of public opinion was unnecessary to keep her 
within the privacy of domestic life; for it was her own 
chosen home. She loved to prepare her grandfather’s 
frugal repast of bread and grapes, and wild honey; to 
take care of his garments; to copy his manuscripts; 
and to direct the operations ofMibra, a little Arcadian 
peasant girl, who was her only attendant. These du- 
ties, performed with cheerful alacrity, gave a fresh 
charm to the music and embroidery with which she 
employed her leisure hours. 

Anaxagoras was extremely attached to his lovely 
grandchild; and her great intellectual gifts, accom- 
panied as they were by uncommon purity of character, 
had procured from him and his friends a degree of re- 
spect not usually bestowed upon women of that period. 
She was a most welcome auditor to the philosophers, 
poets, and artists, who were ever fond of gathering 
round the good old man; and when it was either 
necessary or proper to remain in her own apartment, 


THILOTHEA. 


77 


there was the treasured wisdom of Thales, Pythago- 
ras, Hesiod, Homer, Simonides, Ibycus, and Pindar. 
More than one of these precious volumes were tran- 
scribed entirely by her own hand. 

In the midst of such communion, her spirit drank 
freely from the fountains of sublime knowledge; which, 
“ like the purest waters of the earth, can be obtained 
only by digging deep, — but when they are found, they 
rise up to meet us.” 

The intense love of the beautiful thus acquired, far 
from making the common occupations of life distaste- 
ful, threw over them a sort of poetic interest, as a 
richly painted window casts its own glowing colors on 
mere boards and stones. The higher regions of her 
mind were never obscured by the clouds of daily care ; 
but thence descended perpetual sunshine, to gild the 
vapor. 

On this day, however, Philothea’s mind was less se- 
rene than usual. The unaccountable change in Eu- 
dora’s character perplexed and troubled her. When 
she parted from her to go into the Acropolis, she had 
left her as innocent and contented as a little child ; and 
so proud and satisfied in Philaemon’s love, that she 
deemed herself the happiest of all happy beings: at 
the close of six short months, she found her trans- 
formed into a vain, restless, ambitious woman, wild for 
distinction, and impatient of restraint. 

All this Philothea was disposed to pity and forgive; 
for she felt that frequent intercourse with Aspasia 
might have dazzled even a stronger mind, and changed 
a less susceptible heart. Her own diminished influ- 
ence, she regarded as the inevitable result of her 
friend’s present views and feelings; and she only re- 
7 * 


78 


PIIILOTHEA. 


gretted it because it lessened her power of doing good 
where she was most desirous ta be useful. 

Sev.eral times, in the course of the day, her heart 
yearned toward the favorite of her childhood ; and 
she was strongly impelled to go to her and confess all 
her anxieties. But Eudora came not, as slie had ever 
heen wont to do, in the intervals of household occupa- 
tion; and this obvious neglect drove Philothea’s kind 
impulses back upon her heart. 

Hylax, as he ran round the garden, barking and 
jumping at the birds in the air, instantly knew her 
voice, and came capering in, bounding up at her side, 
and licking her hand. The tears came to Philothea’s 
eyes, as she stooped to caress the affectionate animal : 
“Poor Hylax,” said she, “i/om have not changed.” 
She gathered some flowers, and twined them round the 
dog’s neck, thinking this simple artifice might bring a 
visit from her friend. 

But the sun went down, and still she had not caught 
a glimpse of Eudora, even in the garden. Her affec- 
tionate anxiety was almost deepening into sadness, 
when Anaxagoras returned, accompanied by the Ethi- 
opian boy. 

“ I bring an offering from the munificent Tithonus,” 
said the philosopher: “ He came with my disciples to- 
day, and we have had much discourse together. To- 
morrow he departs from Athens; and he bade me say 
that he hoped his farewell gift would not be unaccep- 
table to her whose voice made even Pindar’s strains 
more majestic and divine.” 

The boy uncovered an image he carried in his arms, 
and with low obeisance presented it to Philothea. It 
was a small statue of Urania, wrought in ivory and 


\ 


PHILOTHEA. 


79 


gold. The beautiful face was turned upward, as if re- 
garding the heavens with quiet contemplation. A 
crown of golden planets encircled the head, and the 
scarf, enameled with deep and vivid azure, likewise 
glowed with stars. 

Philothea smiled, as she glanced round the apart- 
ment, and said, “ It is a humble shrine for a Muse so 
heavenly.” 

“Honesty and innocence are fitter companions for 
the gods, than mere marble and gold,” replied the 
philosopher. 

As a small indication of respect and gratitude, the 
maiden sent Tithonus a roll of papyrus, on which she 
had neatly copied Pindar’s Odes; and the boy, having 
received a few oboli for his trouble, returned charged 
with thanks and good wishes for his master. 

Philothea, spontaneously yielding to the old habit of 
enjoying everything with her friend, took the statue in 
her arms and went directly to her room. Eudora was 
kind and cheerful, but strangely fluttered. She praised 
the beautiful image in the excessive terms of one who 
feels little, and is therefore afraid of not saying enough. 
Her mind was evidently disturbed with thoughts quite 
foreign to the subject of her conversation; but, mak- 
ing an effort at self-possession, she said, “ I too have 
had a present: Artaphernes sent it because my voice 
reminded him of one he loved in his youth.” She un- 
folded a roll of perfumed papyrus, and displayed a 
Persian veil of gold and silver tissue. Philothea pro- 
nounced it fit for the toilette of a queen; but frankly 
confessed that it was too gorgeous to suit her taste. 

At parting, she urged Eudora to share her apart- 
ment for the night. The maiden refused, under the 
pretext of illness; but when her friend offered to re- 


80 


PHILOTHEA. 


main with her, she hastily replied that she should be 
much better alone. 

As Philothea passed through the sheltered avenue, 
she saw Mibra apparently assisting Geta in cleansing 
some marbles; and thinking Phidias would be pleased 
with the statue, she asked Geta to convey it to his 
room. He replied, “My master has gone to visit a 
friend at Salamis, and will not return until morning.” 
The maiden was much surprised that her friend had 
made no allusion to this circumstance; but she forbore 
to return and ask an explanation. 

Another subject attracted her attention, and occu- 
pied some share of her thoughts. She had observed 
that Geta and Mibra appeared much confused when 
she spoke to them. When she inquired what Geta 
had been saying, the pretty Arcadian, with an averted 
face, replied, “He called me to see a marble dog, 
barking as if he had life in him; only he did not make 
any noise.” 

“Was that all Geta talked of ? ” said Philothea. 

“He asked me if I liked white kids,” answered the 
blushing peasant. 

“And what did you tell him?” inquired the maiden. 

With a bashful mixture of simplicity and archness, 
the young damsel answered, “ I told him I liked white 
kids very much.” 

Philothea smiled, and asked no more questions. 
When she repeated this brief conversation to Anaxa- 
goras, he heard it with affectionate interest in Mibra’s 
welfare, and promised to have a friendly talk with 
honest-hearted Geta. 

The wakefulness and excitement of the preceding 
night had been quite at variance with the tranquil reg- 
ularity of Philothea’s habits; and the slight repose, 


EHILOTHEA. 


81 


which she usually enjoyed in the afternoon, had been 
disturbed by her grandfather, who came to say that 
Paralus was with him, and wished to see her a few 
moments* before they went out to the Pyrseum to- 
gether. Being therefore unusually weary, both in 
body and mind, the maiden early retired to her couch; 
End with mingled thoughts of her lover and her friend, 
she soon fell into a profound sleep. 

She dreamed of being with Paralus in an olive grove* 
over the deep verdure of which shining white blossoms 
were spread, like a silver veil. Her lover played upon 
his flute, while she leaned against a tree and listened. 
Soon, the air was filled with a multitude of doves, 
flocking from every side; and the flapping of their 
wings kept time to the music. 

Then, suddenly, the scene changed to the garden of 
Phidias. The statues seemed to smile upon her, and 
the flowers looked up bright and cheerful, in an at- 
mosphere more mild than the day, but warmer than 
the moon. Presently, one of the smiling statues be- 
came a living likeness of Eudora, and with delighted 
expression gazed earnestly on the ground, Philothea 
looked to see what excited her admiration — and lo! a 
large serpent, shining with green and gold, twisted 
itself among the flowers in manifold involutions; and 
wheresoever the beautiful viper glided, the blossoms 
became crisped and blackened, as if fire had passed 
over them. With a sudden spring the venomous crea- 
ture coiled itself about Eudora’s form, and its poisoned 
tongue seemed just ready to glance into her heart; 
yet still the maiden laughed merrily, heedless of her 
danger. 

Philothea awoke with a thrill of anguish; but thank-* 
ful to realize that it was all a dream, she murmured a 


8 c 2 


PHILOTHEAi 


brief prayer, turned upon her couch, and soon yielded 
to the influence of extreme drowsiness. 

In her sleep, she seemed to be working at her em- 
broidery; and Hylax came and tugged at her robe* 
until she followed him into the garden. There Eudora 
stood smiling, and the glittering serpent was again 
dancing before her. 

Disturbed by the recurrence of this unpleasant 
dream, the maiden remained awake for a considerable 
time, listening to the voices of her grandfather and his 
guests, which still came up with a murmuring sound 
from the room below. Gradually her senses were 
lulled into slumber; and again the same dream re- 
curred to distress and waken her. 

Unable longer to resist the strength of her impres- 
sions, Pliilothea arose, and descending a few of the 
steps which led to the lower part of the house, she 
looked into the garden, through one of the apertures 
that had been left in the wall for the admission of light. 
Behind a statue of Erato, she was sure that she saw 
colored drapery floating in the moonlight. Moving on 
to the next aperture, she distinctly perceived Eudora 
standing by the statue; and instead of the graceful 
serpent, Alcibiades knelt before her. His attitude 
and gesture were impassioned; and though the ex- 
pression of Eudora’s countenance could not be seen, 
she was evidently giving him no ungracious audience. 

Philothea put her hand to her heart, which throbbed 
violently with painful emotion. Her first thought was 
to end this interview at all hazards; but she was of a 
timid nature ; and when she had folded her robe and 
veil about her, her courage failed. Again she looked 
through the aperture, and saw that the arm of Alcibi- 
ades rested on the shoulder of her misguided friend. 


PHILOTHEA. 


83 


Without taking time for a second thought, she 
sprang down the remaining steps, darted through the 
private avenue into the garden, and standing directly 
before the deluded girl, she exclaimed, in a tone of 
earnest expostulation, “Eudora!” 

With a half-suppressed scream the maiden disap- 
peared. Alcibiades, with characteristic boldness, 
seized Philothea’s robe, exclaiming, “ What have we 
here? So help me Aphrodite! it is the lovely Cane- 
phora of the Gardens ! Now Eros forsake me if I lose 
this chance to look on her heavenly face again.” 

He attempted to raise the veil, which the terrified 
maiden grasped convulsively, as she tried to extricate 
herself from his hold. 

At that instant, a stern voice sounded from the op- 
posite wall; and Philothea, profiting by the sudden 
surprise into which Alcibiades was thrown, darted 
through the avenue, bolted the door, and in an instant 
after was within the sanctuary of her own chamber. 

Here the tumult of mingled emotion subsided in a 
flood of tears. She mourned over the shameful infatu- 
ation of Eudora, and she acutely felt the degradation 
attached to her own accidental share in the scene. 
With these thoughts was mingled deep pity for the 
pure-minded and excellent Phikemon. She was sure 
that it was his voice she had heard from the wall; and 
she rightly conjectured that, after his prolonged inter- 
view with Anaxagoras, he had partly ascended the 
ladder leading to the house-top, and looked through 
the fluttering grape-leaves at the dwelling of his 
beloved. 

The agitation of her mind prevented all thoughts of 
sleep. Again and again she looked out anxiously. 
All was hushed and motionless. The garden reposed 


84 


PHILOTHEA. 


in the moonbeams, like truths — which receive no 
warmth from the heart — seen only in the clear, cold 
light of reason. The plants were visible, but color- 
less; and the statues stood immovable in their silent, 
lifeless beauty. 





CHAPTER VI. 


Persuasive is the voice of Vice, 

That spreads the insidious snare. 

iEsCHYLUS. 

Early the next morning, painful as the task was, 
Philothea went to Eudora’s room; for she felt that 
if she ever hoped to save her, she must gain influence 
now. 

The maiden had risen from her couch, and was 
leaning her head on her hand, in an attitude of deep 
thought. She raised her eyes as Philothea entered, 
and her face was instantly suffused with the crimson 
flush of shame. She made no reply to the usual salu- 
tations of the morning, but with evident agitation 
twisted and untwisted some shreds that had fallen from 
her embroidery. 

For a moment her friend stood irresolute. She felt 
a strong impulse to put her arm around Eudora’s neck 
and conjure her, even for her own sake, to be frank 
and confiding; but the scene in the garden returned to 
her memory, and she recoiled from her beloved com- 
panion, as from something polluted. 

Still ignorant how far the deluded girl was involved, 
she felt that the manner in which she deported herself 
toward her, might perhaps fix her destiny for good or 
evil. With a kind, but trembling voice, she said, 
“Eudora, will you tell me whether the interview I 
witnessed last night was an appointed one ? ” 


86 


PHILOTHEA. 


Eudora persevered in silence, but her agitation 
obviously increased. 

Her friend looked earnestly in her excited counte- 
nance fora moment, and then said, “Eudora, I do 
entreat you to tell me the whole truth in this matter.” 

“ I have not yet learned what right you have to in- 
quire,” replied the misguided maiden. 

Philothea’s eyes were filled with tears as she said, 
“Does the love we have felt for each other from our 
earliest childhood, give me no claim to your confidence ? 
Had we ever a cake, or a bunch of grapes, of which 
one did not reserve for the other the largest and best 
portion? I well remember the day w r hen you broke 
the little marble kid Phidias had given you. You 
fairly sobbed yourself to sleep in my lap, while I 
smoothed back the silky curls all wet with your tears, 
and sung my childish songs to please you. You came 
to me with all your infant troubles — and in our maturer 
years have we not shared all our thoughts? Oh, still 
trust to the affection that never deceived you. Believe 
me, dear Eudora, you would not wish to conceal your 
purposes and actions from your earliest and best friend, 
unless you had an inward consciousness of something 
wrong. Every human being has, like Socrates, an 
attendant spirit; and wise are they who obey its sig- 
nals. If it does not always tell us what to do, it always 
cautions us what not to do. Have you not of late 
struggled against the warnings of this friendly spirit? 
Is it safe to contend with him, till his voice recedes, 
like music in the distance, and is heard no more? ” 

She looked earnestly in Eudora’s face for a moment, 
and perceiving that her feelings were somewhat soft- 
ened, she added, “I will not again ask whether the 
meeting of last night was an appointed one ; for you 


PHILOTHEA. 


87 


surely would repel the suspicion, if you could do so 
with truth. It is too evident that this insinuating man 
has fascinated you as he already has done hundreds of 
others; and for the sake of his transient flattery, you 
have thrown away Philsemon’s pure and constant love. 
Yet the passing notice of Alcibiades is a distinction you 
will share with half the maidens of Athens. When 
another new face attracts his fancy, you will be forgot- 
ten ; but you cannot so easily forget your own folly. 
The friends you cast from you can never be regained; 
tranquility of mind will return no more; conscious in- 
nocence, which makes the human countenance a tablet 
for the gods to write upon, can never be restored. 
And for what will you lose all this? Think for a mo- 
ment what is the destiny of those women, who, follow- 
ing the steps of Aspasia, seek happiness in the homage 
paid to triumphant beauty — youth wasted in restless 
excitement, and old age embittered by the conscious- 
ness of deserved contempt. For this, are you willing 
to relinquish the happiness that attends a quiet dis- 
charge of duty, and the cheerful intercourse of true 
affection? ” 

In a tone of offended pride, Eudora answered: 
“Philothea, if I were what you seem to believe me, 
your words would be appropriate; but I have never 
had any other thought than that of being the acknowl- 
edged wife of Alcibiades.” 

“ Has he then made you believe that he would di- 
vorce Hipparete? ” 

«« Yes — he has solemnly sworn it. Such a transac- 
tion would have nothing remarkable in it. Each 
revolving moon sees similar events occur in Athens. 
The wife of Pericles had a destiny like that of her 
namesake ; of whom the poets write that she was be- 


88 


PHILOTHEA. 


loved for awhile by Olympian Zeus, and afterward 
changed into a quail. Pericles promised Aspasia that 
he would divorce Asteria and marry her; and he has 
kept his word. Hipparete is not so very beautiful or 
gifted, as to make it improbable that Alcibiades might 
follow his example.” 

“ It is a relief to my heart,” said Philothea, “to find 
that you have been deluded with hopes, which, how- 
ever deceitful, render you comparatively innocent. 
But believe me, Eudora, Alcibiades will never divorce 
Hipparete. If he should do so, the law would compel 
him to return her magnificent dowry. Her connections 
have wealth and influence; and her brother Callias has 
promised that she shall be his heir. The paternal 
fortune of Alcibiades has all been expended, except his 
estate near Erchia; and this he knows full well is quite 
insufficient to support his luxury and pride.” 

Eudora answered warmly, “ If you knew Alcibiades, 
you would not suspect him of such sordid motives. 
He would throw money into the sea like dust, if it 
stood in the way of his affections.” 

“I am well aware of his pompous wastefulness, 
when he wishes to purchase popularity by lavish ex- 
penditure,” replied Philothea. “But Alcibiades has 
found hearts a cheap commodity, and he will not buy 
with drachmae, what he can so easily obtain by flattery. 
Your own heart, I believe, is not really touched. Your 
imagination is dazzled with his splendid chariots of 
ivory inlaid with silver; his unrivalled stud of Phasian 
horses; his harnesses of glittering brass; the golden 
armor which he loves to display at festivals ; his richly- 
colored garments, fresh from the looms of Sardis, and 
redolent with the perfumes of the East. You are proud 
of his notice, because you see that other maidens are 


PHILOTHEA. 


89 


flattered by it; because his statue stands among the 
Olympionicae, in the sacred groves of Zeus, and because 
all Athens rings with the praises of his beauty, his 
gracefulness, his magnificence, and his generosity. ” 

“ I am not so weak as your words imply,” rejoined 
Eudora. “ I believe that I love Alcibiades better than 
I ever loved Philsemon; and if the consent of Phidias 
can be obtained, I cannot see why you should object to 
our marriage.” 

For a few moments Philothea remained in hopeless 
silence; then, in a tone of tender expostulation, she 
continued: “ Eudora, I would the power were given 
me to open your eyes, before it is too late! If Hippa- 
rete be not beautiful, she certainly is not unpleasing; 
her connections have high rank and great wealth; she 
is virtuous and affectionate, and the mother of his chil- 
dren. If, with all these claims, she can be so lightly 
turned away for the sake of a lovelier face, what can 
you expect, when your beauty no longer has the charm 
of novelty? You, who have neither wealth nor power- 
ful connections, to serve the purposes of that ambitious 
man? And think for yourself, Eudora, if Alcibiades 
means as he says, why does he seek stolen interviews 
at midnight, in the absence of Phidias? ” 

“ It is because he knows that Phidias has an un- 
common regard for Philaemon,” replied Eudora; “but 
he thinks he can, in time, persuade him to consult our 
wishes. I know, better than you possibly can, what 
reasons I have to trust the strength of his affection. 
Aspasia says she has never seen him so deeply in love 
as he is now.” 

“It is as I feared,” said Philothea; “the voice of 
that siren is luring you to destruction.” 

Eudora answered, in an angry tone, “ I love Aspa- 


90 


PHILOTHEA. 


sia; and it offends me to hear her spoken of in this 
manner. If you are content to be a slave, like the 
other Grecian women, who bring water and grind corn 
for their masters, I have no objection. I have a spirit 
within me that demands a wider field of action, and I 
enjoy the freedom that reigns in Aspasia’s house. Al- 
cibiades says he does not blame women for not liking 
to be shut up within four walls all their life-time, 
ashamed to show their faces like other mortals .’ 1 

Quietly, but sadly, Philothea replied: “Farewell, 
Eudora. May the powers that guide our destiny, pre- 
serve you from any real cause for shame. You are 
now living in Calypso’s island; and divine beings 
alone can save you from the power of her enchant- 
ments.” 

Eudora made no response, and did not even raise her 
eyes, as her companion left the apartment. 

As Philothea passed "through the garden, she saw 
Mibra standing in the shadow of the vines, feeding a 
kid with some flowers she held in her hand, while Geta 
was fastening a crimson cord about its neck. A glad 
influence passed from this innocent group into the 
maiden’s heart, like the glance of a sunbeam over a 
dreary landscape. 

“ Is the kid yours, Mibra? she asked, with an af- 
fectionate smile. 

The happy little peasant raised her eyes with an 
arch expression, but instantly lowered them again, 
covered with blushes. It was a look that told all the 
secrets of her young heart more eloquently than lan- 
guage. 

Philothea had drank freely from those abundant 
fountains of joy in the human soul, which remain hidden 
till love reveals their existence, as secret springs are 


PHILOTHEA. 


91 


said to be discovered by a magic wand. With affec- 
tionate sympathy she placed her hand gently on Mibra’s 
head, and said, “Be good — and the gods will ever 
provide friends for you.” 

The humble lovers gazed after her with a blessing 
in their eyes; and in the consciousness of this, her 
meek spirit found a solace for the wounds Eudora had 
given. 


_ p 

CHAPTER VII. 

O Zeus ! why hast thou given us certain proof 
To know adulterate gqJd, but stamped no mark, 

Where it is needed most, on man ’s base metal ! 

Euripides. 


When Philothea returned to her grandfather’s apart- 
ment, she found the good old man with an open tablet 
before him, and the remainder of a rich cluster of 
grapes lying on a shell by his side. 

“I have wanted you, my child,” said he. “Have 
you heard the news all Athens is talking of, that you 
sought your friend so early in the day? You are not 
wont to be so eager to carry tidings.” 

“ I have not heard the rumors whereof you speak,” 
replied Philothea. “ What is it, my father? ” 

“ Hipparete went from Aspasia’s house to her 
brother Callias, instead of the dwelling of her hus- 
band,” rejoined Anaxagoras: “By his advice she re- 
fused to return; and she yesterday appealed to the 
archons for a divorce from Alcibiades, on the plea of 
his notorious profligacy. Alcibiades, hearing of this, 
rushed into the assembly, with his usual boldness, 
seized his wife in his arms, carried her through the 
crowd, and locked her up in her own apartment. No 
man ventured to interfere with this lawful exercise of 
his authority. It is rumored that Hipparete particu- 
larly accused him of promising marriage to Electra 
the Corinthian, and Eudora, of the household of 
Phidias.” 


PHILOTHEA. 


93 


For the first time in her life, Philothea turned away 
her face, to conceal its expression, while she inquired 
in a tremulous tone whether these facts had been told 
to Phileemon, the preceding evening. 

“ Some of the guests were speaking of it when he 
entered,’’ replied Anaxagoras; “but no one alluded to 
it in his presence. Perhaps he had heard the rumor, 
for he seemed sad and disquieted, and joined little in 
the conversation.” 

Embarrassed by the questions which her grand- 
father was naturally disposed to ask, Philothea briefly 
confessed that a singular change had taken place in 
Eudora’s character, and begged permission to be 
silent on a subject so painful to her feelings. She felt 
strongly inclined to return immediately to her deluded 
friend; but the hopelessness induced by her recent 
conversation, combined with the necessity of superin- 
tending Mibra in some of her household occupations, 
occasioned a few hours’ delay. 

As she attempted to cross the garden for that pur- 
pose, she saw Eudora enter hastily by the private 
gate, and pass to her own apartment. Philothea in- 
stantly followed her, and found that she had thrown 
herself on the couch, sobbing violently. She put her 
arms about her neck, and affectionately inquired the 
cause of her distress. 

For a long time the poor girl resisted every soothing 
effort, and continued to weep bitterly. At last, in a 
voice stifled with sobs, she said, “ I was indeed de- 
ceived; and you, Philothea, was my truest friend; as 
you have always been.” 

The tender-hearted maiden imprinted a kiss upon 
her hand, and asked whether it was Hipparete’s appeal 


94 


PHILOTHEA. 


to the archons that had so suddenly convinced her of 
the falsehood of Alcibiades. 

“I have heard it all,” replied Eudora, with a deep 
blush; “ and I have heard my name coupled with epi- 
thets never to be repeated to your pure ears. I was 
so infatuated that, after you left me this morning, I 
sought the counsels of Aspasia, to strengthen me in 
the course I had determined to pursue. As I ap- 
proached her apartment, the voice of Alcibiades met 
my ear. I stopped and listened. I heard him exult 
in his triumph over Hipparete; I heard my name 
joined with Electra, the wanton Corinthian. I heard 
him boast how easily our affections had been won; I 
heard ” 

She paused for a few moments, with a look of intense 
shame, and the tears fell fast upon her robe. 

In gentle tones Philothea said, “ These are precious 
tears, Eudora. They will prove like spring-showers, 
bringing forth fragrant blossoms.” 

With sudden impulse the contrite maiden threw her 
arms around her neck, saying, in a subdued voice, 
“You must not be so kind to me — it will break my 
heart.” 

By degrees the placid influence of her friend calmed 
her perturbed spirit. “Philothea, she said, “ I prom- 
ise with solemn earnestness to tell you every action of 
my life, and every thought of my soul; but never ask 
me to repeat all I heard at Aspasia’s dwelling. The 
words went through my heart like poisoned arrows.” 

“Nay,” replied Philothea, smiling; “they have 
healed, not poisoned.” 

Eudora sighed, as she added, “When I came away, 
in anger and in shame, I heard that false man singing 
in mockery: 


PHILOTHEA. 


95 


“ Count me on the summer trees 
Every leaf that courts the breeze; 

Count me on the foamy deep 
Every wave that sinks to sleep; 

Then when you have numbered these, 

Billowy tides and leafy trees, 

Count me all the flames I prove, 

All the gentle nymphs I love.” 

“ Philothea, how could you, who are so pure your- 
self, see so much clearer than I did the treachery of 
that bad man?” 

The maiden replied, “Mortals, without the aid of 
experience, would always be aware of the presence of 
evil, if they sought to put away the love of it in their 
own hearts, and in silent obedience listened to the 
voice of their guiding spirit. Flowers feel the ap- 
proach of storms, and birds need none to teach them 
the enmity of serpents. This knowledge is given to 
them as perpetually as the sunshine; and they receive 
it fully, because their little lives are all obedience and 
love.” 

“ Then, dearest Philothea, you may well know when 
evil approaches. By some mysterious power you have 
ever known my heart better than I myself have known 
it. I now perceive that you told me the truth when 
you said I was not blinded by love, but by foolish pride. 
If it were not so, my feelings could not so easily have 
turned to hatred. I have more than once tried to de- 
ceive you, but you will feel that I am not now speak- 
ing falsely. The interview you witnessed was the first 
and only one I ever granted to Alcibiades.” 

Philothea freely expressed her belief in this asser- 
tion, and her joy that the real character of the grace- 
ful hypocrite had so soon been made manifest. Her 
thoughts turned towards Philaemon; but certain recol- 


96 


PHILOTHEA. 


lections restrained the utterance of his name. They 
were both silent for a few moments; and Eudora’s 
countenance was troubled. She looked up earnestly 
in her friend’s face, but instantly turned away her eyes, 
and fixing them on the ground, said, in a low and 
timid voice, “Do you think Philaemon can ever love 
me again? ” 

Philothea felt painfully embarrassed; for when she 
recollected how deeply Philaemon was enamored of 
purity in women, she dared not answer in the language 
of hope. 

While she yet hesitated, Dione came to say that her 
master required the attendance of Eudora alone in his 
apartment. 

Phidias had always exacted implicit obedience from 
his household, and Eudora’s gratitude towards him had 
ever been mingled with fear. The consciousness of re- 
cent misconduct filled her with extreme dread. Pier 
countenance became deadly pale, as she turned toward 
her friend, and said, “ Oh, Philothea, go with me.” 

The firm-hearted maiden took her arm gently within 
her own, and whispered, “ Speak the truth, and trust 
in the Divine Powers.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


Thus it is ; I have made those 
Averse to me whom nature formed my friends ; 

Those, who from me deserved no ill, to win 
Thy grace, I gave just cause to be my foes ; 

And thou, most vile of men, thou hast betrayed me. 

Euripides. 


Phidias was alone, with a large unfinished drawing 
'before him, on a waxen tablet. Various groups of 
statues were about the room; among which was con- 
spicuous the beautiful workmanship of Myron, repre- 
senting a kneeling Paris offering the golden apple to 
Aphrodite; and by a mode of flattery common with 
Athenian artists, the graceful youth bore the features 
of Alcibiades. Near this group was Hera and Pallas, 
from the hand of Phidias; characterized by a severe 
majesty of expression, as they looked toward Paris 
and his voluptuous goddess in quiet scorn. 

Stern displeasure was visible in the countenance of 
the great sculptor. As the maidens entered, with 
their faces covered, he looked up, and said coldly, “ I 
bade that daughter of unknown parents come into my 
presence unattended.” 

Eudora keenly felt the reproach implied by the sup- 
pression of her name, which Phidias deemed she had 
dishonored; and the tremulous motion of her veil be- 
trayed her agitation. 

Philothea spoke in a mild, but firm voice: “ Son of 
Charmides, by the friendship of my father, I conjure 

9 


98 


PHILOTHEA. 


you do not require me to forsake Eudora in this hour 
of great distress. ** 

In a softened tone, Phidias replied: “ The daughter 
of Alcimenes knows that for his sake, and for the sake 
of her own gentle nature, I can refuse her nothing.” 

“ I give thee thanks,” rejoined the maiden, “ and 
relying on this assurance, I will venture to plead for 
this helpless orphan, whom the gods committed to thy 
charge. The counsels of Aspasia have led her into 
error; and is the son of Charmides blameless, for 
bringing one so young within the influence of that se- 
ductive woman? ” 

After a short pause, Phidias answered: “ Philothea, 
it is true that my pride in her gift of sweet sounds first 
brought her into the presence of that bad and danger- 
ous man; it was contrary to Philcemon’s wishes, too; 
and in this I have erred. If that giddy damsel can 
tell me the meeting in the garden was not by her own 
consent, I will again restore her to my confidence. 
Eudora, can you with truth give me this assurance?” 

Eudora made no reply; but she trembled so violently 
that she would have sunk, had she not leaned on the 
arm of her friend. 

Philothea, pitying her distress, said, “ Son of Char- 
mides, I do not believe Eudora can truly give the an- 
swer you wish to receive ; but remember in her favor 
that she does not seek to excuse herself by falsehood. 
Alcibiades has had no other interview than that one, of 
which the divine Phoebus sent a mesenger to warn me 
in my sleep. For that fault, the deluded maiden has 
already suffered a bitter portion of shame and grief.” 

After a short silence, Phidias spoke: “Eudora, 
when I called you hither, it was with the determination 
of sending you to the temple of Castor and Polydeuces, 


PHILOTHEA. 


99 


there to be offered for sale to your paramour, who has 
already tried, in a secret way, to purchase you, by the 
negociation of powerful friends; but Philothea has not 
pleaded for you in vain. I will not punish your fault 
so severely as Alcibiades ventured to hope. You shall 
remain under my protection. But from henceforth 
you must never leave your own apartment, without my 
express permission, which will not soon he granted. I 
dare not trust your sudden repentance; and shall 
therefore order a mastiff to be chained to your door. 
Dione will bring you bread and water only. If you 
fail in obedience, the fate I first intended will assuredly 
be yours, without time given for expostulation. Now 
go to the room that opens into the garden; and there 
remain, till I send Dione to conduct you to your own 
apartment.” 

Eudora was so completely humbled, that these harsh 
words aroused no feeling of offended pride. Her 
heart was too full for utterance; and her eyes so 
blinded with tears, that, as she turned to leave the 
apartment, she frequently stumbled over the scattered 
fragments of marble. 

It was a day of severe trials for the poor maiden. 
They had remained but a short time waiting for Dione, 
w’hen Philsemon entered, conducted by Phidias, who 
immediately left the apartment. Eudora instantly 
bowed her head upon the couch, and covered her face 
with her hands. 

In a voice tremulous with emotion, the young man 
said, “Eudora, notwithstanding the bitter recollection 
of where I last saw you, I have earnestly wished to 
see you once more — to hear from your own lips 
whether the interview I witnessed in the garden was by 
your own appointment. Although many things in your 



100 


FHILOTHEA* 


late conduct have surprised and grieved me, I anr 
slow to believe that you could have taken a step sa 
unmaidenly; particularly at this time, when it has 
pleased the gods to load me with misfortunes. By the 
affection I once cherished, I entreat you to tell me 
whether that meeting was unexpected. ” 

He waited in vain for any other answer than audible 
sobs. After a slight pause, he continued: “Eudora, 
I wait for a reply more positive than silence. Let me 
hear from your own lips the words that must decide 
my destiny. Perchance it is the last favor I shall ever 
ask.” 

The repentant maiden, without looking up, answered, 
in broken accents, “ Philsemon, I will not add deceit 
to other wrongs. I must speak the truth if my heart 
is broken. I did consent to that interview.” 

The young man bowed his head in silent anguish 
against one of the pillars — his breast heaved, and his 
lips quivered. After a hard struggle with himself, he 
said, “Farewell, Eudora. I shall never again intrude 
upon your presence. Many will flatter you; but none 
will love as I have loved.” 

With a faint shriek, Eudora sprung forward, and 
threw herself at his feet. She would have clasped his 
knees, but he involuntarily recoiled from her touch, 
and gathered the folds of his robe about him. 

Then the arrow entered deeply into her heart. She 
rested her burning forehead against the marble pillar, 
and said, in tones of agonized entreaty, “ I never met 
him but once.” 

Philothea, who during this scene had wept like an 
infant, laid her hand beseechingly on his arm, and 
added, ?< Son of ChceriHus, remember that was the 
only interview.” 




PHILOTHEA. 


101 


Philsemon shook his head mournfully, as he replied, 
“ But I cannot forget that it was an appointed one. — 
We can never meet again.” 

He turned hastily to leave the room; but lingered 
on the threshold, and looked back upon Eudora, with 
an expression of unutterable sadness. 

Philothea perceived the countenance of her unhappy 
friend grow rigid beneath his gaze. She hastened to 
raise her from the ground whereon she knelt, and re- 
ceived her senseless in her arms. 


9 * 


CHAPTER IX. 


Fare thee well, perfidious maid! 

My soul, — its fondest hopes betrayed, 

Betrayed, perfidious girl, by thee, — 

Is now on wing for liberty. 

I fly to seek a kindlier sphere, 

Since thou hast ceased to love me here. 

Anacreon. 


Not long after the parting interview with Eudora, 
Philaemon, sad and solitary, slowly wended his way 
from Athens. As he passed along the banks of the 
Illyssus, he paused for a moment, and stood with folded 
arms, before the chaste and beautiful little temple of 
Agrotera, the huntress with the unerring bow. 

The temple was shaded by lofty plane trees, and 
thickly intertwined willows, among which transparent 
rivulets glided in quiet beauty; while the marble 
nymphs, with which the grove was adorned, looking 
modestly down upon the sparkling waters, as if awe- 
stricken by the presence of their sylvan goddess. 

A well-known voice said, “Enter, Philaemon. It is 
a beautiful retreat. The soft, verdant grass tempts to 
repose; a gentle breeze brings fragrance from the 
blossoms; and the grasshoppers are chirping with a 
summer-like and sonorous sound. Enter, my son.” 

“Thanks, Anaxagoras,” replied Philaemon, as he 
moved forward to give and receive the cordial saluta- 
tion of his friend: “I have scarcely travelled far 
enough to need repose ; but the day is sultry, and this 
balmy air is indeed refreshing.” 


PHILOTHEA. 


103 


“Whither leads your path, my son? ” inquired the 
good old man. “ I perceive that no servant follows 
you with a seat whereon to rest, when you wish to 
enjoy the prospect, and your garments are girded about 
you, like one who travels afar.” 

“ I seek Mount Hymettus, my father,” replied 
Philaemon: “There I shall stop to-night, to take my 
last look of Athens. To-morrow, I join a company on 
their way to Persia; where they say Athenian learning 
is eagerly sought by the Great King and his nobles.” 

“ And w ould you have left Athens without my bless- 
ing? ” inquired Anaxagoras. 

“ In truth, my father, I wished to avoid the pain of 
parting,” rejoined Philcemon. Not even my beloved 
Paralus is aware that the homeless outcast of ungrateful 
Athens has left her walls forever.” 

The aged philosopher endeavored to speak, but his 
voice was tremulous with emotion. After a short 
pause, he put his arm within Philaemon’s, and said, 
“My son, we will journey together. I shall easily 
find my way back to Athens before the lamps of evening 
are lighted.” 

The young man spoke of the wearisome walk; 
and reminded him that Ibycus, the beloved of the gods, 
was murdered while returning to the city after twi- 
light. But the philosopher replied, “My old limbs 
are used to fatigue, and everybody knows that the 
plain robe of Anaxagoras conceals no gold.” 

As they passed along through the smiling fields 
of Agra, the cheerfulness of the scene redoubled the 
despondency of the exile. Troops of laughing girls 
were returning from the vineyards with baskets full 
of grapes; women were grinding corn, singing merrily, 
as they toiled; groups of boys were throwing quoits, 


104 


PHILOTHEA. 


or seated on the grass eagerly playing at dice, and 
anon filling the air with their shouts; in one place was 
a rural procession in honor of Dionysus; in another, 
loads of pure Pentelic marble were on their way 
from the quarry, to increase the architectural glory of 
Athens. 

“I could almost envy that senseless stone!” ex- 
claimed Philsemon. “ It goes where I have spent 
many a happy hour, and where I shall never enter 
more. It is destined for the Temple of the Muses, 
which Plato is causing to be built among the olive- 
groves of Academus. The model is more beautifully 
simple than anything I have ever seen.” 

“ The grove of Academus is one of the few places 
now remaining where virtue is really taught and en- 
couraged,” rejoined Anaxagoras. “ As for these new 
teachers, misnamed philosophers, they are rapidly has- 
tening the decay of a state whose diseases produced 
themselves.” 

<c A few days since, I heard one of the sophists 
talking to crowds of people in the old Agora,” said 
Philaemon; tc and truly his doctrines formed a strange 
contrast with the severe simplicity of virtue expressed 
in the countenances of Solon, Aristides, and the other 
godlike statues that stood around him. He told the 
populace that it was unquestionably a great blessing to 
commit an injury with impunity; but as there was more 
evil in suffering an injury than there was good in com- 
mitting one, it was necessary to have the subject reg- 
ulated by laws: that justice, correctly defined, meant 
nothing more than the interest of the strongest; that 
a just man always fared worse than the unjust, be- 
cause he neglected to aggrandize himself by dishonest 
actions, and thus became unpopular among his ac- 


PHILOTHEA. 


105 


quaintances; while those who were less scrupulous,, 
grew rich and were flattered. He said the weak very 
naturally considered justice as a common right; but 
he who had power, if he had likewise courage, would 
never submit to any such agreement: that they who 
praised virtue, did it because they had some object to 
gain from those who had less philosophy than them- 
selves; and these pretended worthies, if they could 
act invisibly, would soon be found in the same path 
with the villain. He called rhetoric the noblest of the 
arts, because it enabled an ignorant man to appear to 
know as much as one who was thoroughly master of 
his subject. Some of the people demanded what he 
had to say of the gods, since he had spoken so ably of 
men. With an unpleasant mixture of derision and 
feigned humility, the sophist replied, that he left such 
vast subjects to be discussed by the immortal Socrates. 
He forthwith left the Agora, and many a loud laugh 
and profane jest followed his departure. When such 
doctrines can be uttered without exciting indignation, it 
is easy to foresee the destinies of the state.” 

c< Thucydides speaks truly,” rejoined Anaxagoras: 
<£ In the history he is writing he says, — the Athenian 
people are beginning to be more fond of calling dis- 
honest men able, than simple men honest; and that 
statesmen begin to be ashamed of the more worthy ti- 
tle, while they take pride in the other: thus sincerity, 
of which there is much in generous natures, will be 
laughed down; while wickedness and hypocrisy are 
everywhere triumphant.” 

“ But evil grows weary of wearing a mask in reluc 
tant homage to good/’ replied Philaemon; “ she is ever 
seeking to push it aside, with the hope that men may 
become accustomed to her face, and find more beauty 


106 


PHILOTHEA. 


therein, than in the disguise she wears. The hidden 
thought at last struggles forth into expression, and 
cherished passions assume a form in action. One of 
the sophists has already given notice that he can teach 
any young man how to prove that right is wrong, or 
wrong is right. It is said that Xanthippus has sent 
his son to benefit by these instructions, with a request 
that he may learn the art thoroughly, but be taught to 
use it only in the right way.” 

“ Your words are truth, my son,” answered the phi- 
losopher; “and the blame should rest on those who 
taint the stream at its source, rather than with them 
who thoughtlessly drink of it in its wanderings. The 
great and the gifted of Athens, instead of yielding rev- 
erent obedience to the unchangeable principle of truth, 
have sought to make it the servant of their own pur- 
poses. Forgetful of its eternal nature, they strive to 
change it into arbitrary forms of their own creating; 
and then marvel because other minds present it in 
forms more gross and disgusting than their own. 
They do not ask what is just or unjust, true or untrue, 
but content themselves with recommending virtue as 
far as it advances interest, or contributes to popularity; 
and when virtue ceases to be fashionable, the multi- 
tude can no longer find a satisfactory reason for ad- 
hering to it. But when the teachers of the populace 
hear their vulgar pupils boldly declare that vice is as 
good as virtue, provided a man can follow it with suc- 
cess, pride prevents them from seeing that this maxim 
is one of their own doctrines stripped of its equestrian 
robes, and shown in democratic plainness. They did 
not venture to deride the gods, or even to assert that 
they took no cognizance of human affairs; but they 
declared that offences against divine beings might be 


PHILOTHEA. 


107 


easily atoned for by a trifling portion of their own gifts 
— a sheep, a basket of fruit, or a few grains of salt, 
offered at stated seasons, with becoming decorum; 
and then when alone together, they smiled that such 
concessions were necessary to satisfy the superstitions 
of the vulgar. But disbelief in divine beings, and the 
eternal nature of truth, cannot long be concealed by 
pouring the usual libations, or maintaining a cautious 
reserve. The whispered opinions of false philosophers 
will soon be loudly echoed by the popular voice, which 
is less timid, because it is more honest. Even thus 
did Midas laboriously conceal the deformity of his 
head; but his barber, who saw him without disguise, 
whispered his secret in the earth, and when the winds 
arose, the voices of a thousand reeds proclaimed to the 
world, ‘ King Midas hath ass’s ears . 5 

“ The secret has already been whispered to the 
ground , 55 answered Philsemon, smiling: “ If it were 
not so, the comic writers would not be able to give 
with impunity such grotesque and disgusting represen- 
tations of the gods . 55 

“And yet , 55 rejoined the old man, “I hear that 
Hermippus, who has himself personified Hera on the 
stage, as an angry woman attempting to strike infuri- 
ated Zeus, is about to arraign me before the public 
tribunal, because I said the sun was merely a great 
ball of fire. This he construes into blasphemy against 
the life-giving Phoebus.” 

“ The accusation may be thus worded,” said Philae- 
mon; “ but your real crime is that you stay away from 
political assemblies, and are therefore suspected of ^ 
being unfriendly to democratic institutions. Demus 
reluctantly admits that the right to hold such opinions 
is an inherent part of liberty. Soothe the vanity of 


108 


PHILOTHEA. 


the dicasts by humble acknowledgments, and gratify 
their avarice by a plentiful distribution of drachmae; 
flatter the self-conceit of the Athenians by assurances 
that they are the greatest, most glorious, and most 
consistent people upon earth; be careful that Cleon 
the tanner, and Thearion the baker, and Theophrastus 
the maker of lyres are supplicated and praised in due 
form — and, take my word for it, the gods will be left 
to punish you for whatever offences you commit against 
them. They will receive no assistance from the violet- 
crowned city.” 

“And you, my son,” replied the philosopher, 
“would never have been exiled from Athens, if you 
had debated in the porticos with young citizens, who 
love to exhibit their own skill in deciding whether the 
true cause of the Trojan war were Helen, or the ship 
that carried her away, or the man that built the ship, 
or the wood whereof it was made ; if in your style you 
had imitated the swelling pomp of Isagoras, where one 
solitary idea is rolled over and over in an ocean of 
words, like a small pearl tossed about in the .ZEgean; 
if you had supped with Hyperbolus, or been seen in 
the agoras, walking arm in arm with Cleon. With 
such a man as you to head their party, Pericles could 
not always retain the ascendancy by a more adroit use 
of their own weapons.” 

“ As soon would I league myself with the Odoman- 
tians of Thrace ! ” exclaimed Philsemon, with an ex- 
pression of strong disgust. “ It is such men who de- 
stroy the innocence of a republic, and cause that 
sacred name to become a mockery among tyrants. 
The mean-souled wretches! Men who take from the 
poor daily interest for a drachma, and spend it in de- 
bauchery. Citizens who applauded Pericles because 


1PHIL0THEA, 


109 


lie gave them an obolus for a vote, and are now wil- 
ling to see him superseded by any man that will give 
two oboli instead of one! No, my father — I could 
unite with none but an honest party — men who love 
the state and forget thems'elves; and such are not now " 
found in Athens. The few that exist dare not form a 
barrier against the powerful current that would inevi- 
tably drive them to destruction.” 

“ You speak truth, Philaemon,” rejoined Anaxago- 
ras: “ Pallas Athena seems to have deserted her chosen 
people. The proud Spartans openly laugh at our ap- 
proaching downfall, while the smooth Persians watch 
for a favorable moment to destroy the freedom already 
rendered so weak by its own insanity.” 

“ The fault will be attributed to democratic princi- 
ples,” said Philaemon; “but the real difficulty exists 
in that love of power which hides itself beneath the 
mask of democracy, until a corrupted public can en- 
dure its undisguised features without execration. No 
one can believe that Pericles lessened the power of the 
Areopagus from a sincere conviction that it was for the 
good of the people. It was done to obtain personal 
influence, by purchasing the favor of those who had 
sufficient reasons for desiring a less equitable tribunal. 
Nor could he have ever supposed that the interests of 
the republic would be advanced by men whom the gift 
of an obolus could induce to vote. The Athenians 
have been spoiled by ambitious demagogues, who now 
try to surfeit them with flattery, as nurses seek to pacify 
noisy children with sponges dipped in honey. They 
strive to drown the din of domestic discord in boasts of^ 
foreign conquest; and seek to hide corruption in a 
blaze of glory, as they concealed their frauds amid the 
flames of the treasury.” 

10 


110 


PHILOTHEA. 


“ Pericles no doubt owes his great popularity to skill 
in availing himself of existing circumstances,” replied 
Anaxagoras; “ and I am afraid that the same motives 
for corrupting, and the same willingness to be cor- 
rupted, will always be found in democratic insti- 
tutions.” 

“ It has always been matter of surprise to me,” 
said Philsemon, “that one so humble and frugal as 
yourself, and so zealous for the equal rights of all men, 
even the meanest citizens, should yet be so little 
friendly to that popular idol which the Athenians call 
Demus.” 

The philosopher rejoined: “When I was young, I 
heard it said of Lycurgus, that being asked why he, 
who was such a friend to equality, did not bestow a 
democratic government upon Sparta, he answered, 
“go and try a democracy in your own house.” The 
reply pleased me; and a long residence in Athens has 
not yet taught me to believe that a man who is gov- 
erned by ten thousand masters has more freedom than 
he who is governed by one.” 

“ If kings had the same natural affection for their 
subjects that parents have for their children, the com- 
parison of Lycurgus would be just,” answered Philse- 
mon. 

“ And what think you of the paternal kindness of 
this republican decree whereby five thousand citizens 
have been sold into slavery, because the unjust confis- 
cation of their estates rendered them unable to pay 
their debts? ” said Anaxagoras. 

“Such an edict was passed because Athens is not 
a republic,” replied Philsemon.” “All things are un- 
der the control of Pericles; and Aspasia rules him. 
When she heard that I remonstrated against his 


PHILOTHEA. 


Ill 


shameful marriage, she said she would sooner or later 
bring a Trojan horse into my house. She has fulfilled 
her threat by the same means that enabled Pericles to 
destroy the political power of some of his most influ- 
ential enemies.” 


“ Pericles has indeed obtained unbounded influence,” 
rejoined Anaxagoras ; “ but he did it by counterfeit- 
ing the very principle that needed to be checked; 
and this is so easily counterfeited, that democracy is 
always in danger of becoming tyranny in disguise. 
The Athenians are as servile to their popular idol as 
the Persians to their hereditary one; but the popular 
idol seeks to sustain his own power by ministering to 
that love of change, which allows nothing to remain 
sacred and established. Hence, two opposite evils are 
combined in action — the reality of despotism with the 
form of democracy; the power of a tyrant with the 
irresponsibility of a multitude. But, in judging of 
Pericles, you, my son, should strive to guard against 
political enmity, as I do against personal affection. It 
cannot be denied that he has often made good use of 
his influence. When Cimon brought the remains of 
Theseus to Athens, and a temple was erected over 
them in obedience to the oracle, it was he who sug- 
gested to the people that a hero celebrated for re- 
lieving the oppressed could not be honored more 
appropriately than by making his temple a refuge for 






abused slaves.” 

“Friendly as I am to a government truly republi- 
can,” answered Philemon, “it is indeed difficult to 
forgive the man who seduces a democracy to the com- 
mission of suicide for his own advancement. His 
great abilities would receive my admiration, if they 
were net employed in the service of ambition. As for 


112 


PHILOTHEA . 


this new edict, it will prove a rebounding arrow, strik- 
ing him who sent it. He will find ten enemies for one 
in the kindred of the banished.” 

“ While we have been talking thus sadly,” said the 
old philosopher, “ the fragrant thyme and murmuring 
bees give cheerful notice that we are approaching 
Mount Hymettus. I see the worthy peasant, Tellus, 
from whom I have often received refreshment of bread 
and grapes; and if it please you we will share his 
bounty now.” 

The, peasant respectfully returned their friendly 
greeting, and readily furnished clusters from his luxu- 
riant vineyard. As the travellers seated themselves 
beneath the shelter of the vines, Tellus asked, “ What 
news from Athens ? 

“None of importance,” replied Anaxagoras, “ex- 
cepting rumors of approaching war, and this new edict, 
by which so many citizens are suddenly reduced to 
poverty.” 

“There are always those in Athens who are like 
the eel-catchers that choose to have the waters 
troubled,” observed the peasant. “When the lake 
is still, they lose their labor; but when the mud is 
well stirred, they take eels in plenty. My son says 
he gets twelve oboli for a conger-eel, in the Athenian 
markets; and that is a goodly price.” 

The travellers smiled, and contented themselves 
with praising his grapes, without further allusion to 
the politics of Athens. But Tellus resumed the dis- 
course, by saying, “So, I hear my old neighbor, Phi- 
largus, has been tried for idleness.” 

“Even so,” rejoined Anaxagoras; “and his con- 
demnation has proved the best luck he ever had. The 
severe sentence of death was changed into a heavy 


PHILOTHEA. 


113 


fine; and Lysidas, the Spartan, immediately begged 
to be introduced to him, as the only gentleman he 
had seen or heard of in Athens. He has paid the fine 
for him, and invited him to Lacedaemon; that he may 
show his proud countrymen one Athenian who does ^ 
not disgrace himself by industry.” 

“That comes of having the Helots among them,” u 
said Tellus. “My boy married a Spartan wife; and I 
can assure you she is a woman that looks lightning, and 
speaks mustard. When my son first told her to take 
the fish from his basket, she answered, angrily, that she 
was no Helot.” 

“ I heard this same Lysidas, the other day,” said 
Phileemon, “ boasting that the Spartans were the only ^ 
real freemen; and Lacedsemon the only place where 
courage and virtue always found a sure reward. I 
asked him what reward the Helots had for bravery 
or virtue. * They are not scourged; and that is suffi- 
cient reward for the base hounds,’ was his contemptu- 
ous reply. He approves the law forbidding masters 
to bestow freedom on their slaves; and likes the cus- 
tom which permits boys to whip them, merely to re- 
mind them of their bondage. He ridicules the idea 
that injustice will weaken the strength of Sparta, be- 
cause the gods are enemies to injustice. He says the 
sun of liberty shines brighter with the dark atmosphere . 
of slavery around it ; as temperance seems more lovely 
to the Spartan youth, after they have seen the Helots 
made beastly drunk for their amusement. He seems 
to forget that the passions are the same in every hu- 
man breast; and that it is never wise in any state to 
create natural enemies at her own doors. But the 
Lacedaemonians make it a rule never to speak of dan- ^ 
ger from their slaves. They remind me of the citizens 


114 


PHILOTHEA, 


of Amyclge, Avho, having been called from their occupa- 
tions, by frequent rumors of war, passed a vote that 
no man should be allowed, under heavy penalties, to 
believe any report of intended invasion. When the 
enemy really came, no man dared to speak of their 
approach, and Amyclse was easily conquered. Lysidas 
boasted of salutary cruelty; and in the same breath 
told me the Helots loved their masters.” 

“As the Spartan boys love Orthia, at whose altar 
they yearly receive a bloody whipping,” said Tellus, 
laughing. 

“There is one great mistake in Lacedaemonian in- 
stitutions,” observed Anaxagoras: “They seek to avoid 
the degrading love of money, by placing every citizen 
above the necessity of laborious occupation; but they 
forget that a love of tyranny may prove an evil still 
more dangerous to the state.” 

“You speak justly, my father,” answered Philae- 
mon: “The Athenian law, which condemns any man 
for speaking disrespectfully of his neighbor’s trade, is 
most wise; and it augurs ill for Athens that some of 
her young equestrians begin to think it unbecoming to 
bring home provisions for their own dinner from the 
agoras.” 


“ Alcibiades, for instance!” exclaimed the philoso- 
pher: “He would consider himself disgraced by any 
other burthen than his fighting quails, which he carries 
out to take the air.” 

Philaemon started up suddenly — for the name of 
Alcibiades stung him like a serpent. Immediately re- 
covering his composure, he turned to recompense 
the hospitality of the honest peasant, and to bid him a 
friendly farewell. 

But Tellus answered bluntly; “No, young Athenian; 


philothea. 115 

I like your sentiments, and will not touch your coin. 
The gods bless you.” 

The travellers having heartily returned his parting 
benediction, slowly ascended Mount Hymettus. When 
they paused to rest upon its summit, a glorious pros- 
pect lay stretched out before them. On the north, 
were Megara, Eleusis, and the cynosure of Marathon; 
in the south, numerous islands, like a flock of birds, 
reposed on the bright bosom of the .ZEgean; to the 
west was the broad Piraeus with its thousand ships, and 
Athens in all her magnificence of beauty; while the 
stately buildings of distant Corinth mingled with the 
cloudless sky. The declining sun threw his refulgent 
mantle over the lovely scene, and temples, towers, and 
villas glowed in the purple light. 

The travellers stood for a few moments in perfect 
silence — Philaemon with folded arms, and Anaxagoras 
leaning on his staff. At length, in tones of deep emo- 
tion, the young man exclaimed, “ Oh, Athens, how I 
have loved thee! Thy glorious existence has been a 
part of my own being! For thy prosperity how freely 
would I have poured out my blood! The gods bless 
thee, and save thee from thyself! ” 

“Who could look upon her and not bless her in 
his heart?” said the old philosopher: “There she 
stands, fair as the heaven-born Pallas, in all her virgin 
majesty! But alas for Athens, when every man boasts 
of his own freedom, and no man respects the freedom 
of his neighbor. Peaceful, she seems, in her glorious 
beauty; but the volcano is heaving within, and already 
begins to throw forth its showers of smoke and stones.” 

“ Would that the gods had permitted me to share 
her dangers — to die and mingle with her beloved 
soil!” exclaimed PhilcLmon. 


116 


PHILOTHEA, 


The venerable philosopher looked up, and saw in- 
tense wretchedness in the countenance of his youthful 
friend. He laid his hand kindly upon Philaemon’s arm; 
“Nay, my son,” said he, “You must not take this 
unjust decree so much to heart. Of Athens nothing 
can be so certainly predicted as change. Things as 
trifling as the turning of a shell may restore you to 
your rights. You can even now return if you will sub- 
mit to be a mere sojourner in Athens. After all, what 
vast privileges do you lose with your citizenship. 
You must indeed wrestle at Cynosarges, instead of 
the Lyceum or the Academia; but in this, the great 
Themistocles has given you honorable example. You 
will not be allowed to enter the theatre while the 
Athenians keep the second day of their festival An- 
thesteria; but to balance this privation you are for- 
bidden to vote, and are thus freed from all blame be- 
longing to unjust and capricious laws.” 

“My father, playful words cannot cure the wound,” 
replied the exile, seriously: “The cherished recollec- 
tions of years cannot be so easily torn from the heart. 
Athens, with all her faults, is still my own, my beauti- 
ful, my beloved land. They might have killed me, if 
they would, if I had but died an Athenian citizen.” 

He spoke with a voice deeply agitated; but after a 
few moments of forced composure, he continued more 
cheerfully: “Let us speak of other subjects. We are. 
standing here on the self-same spot where Aristo and 
Perictione laid the infant Plato, while they sacrificed 
to the life-giving Phoebus. It was here the bees 
clustered about his infant mouth, and his mother hailed 
the omen of his future eloquence. Commend me to 
that admirable man, and tell him I shall vainly seek 
throughout the world to find another Plato. 


FHILOTHEA, 


m 

Commend me, likewise, to the Persian Artaphernes, 
To his bounty I am much indebted. Lest he should 
hope that I carry away feelings hostile to Athens, and 
favorable to her enemies, say to the kind old man, that 
Philaemon will never forget his country or his friends. 
I have left a long letter to Paralus, in which my full 
heart has but feebly expressed its long-cherished 
friendship. When you return, you will find a trifling 
token of remembrance for yourself and Philothea. 
May Pallas shower her richest blessings upon that pure 
and gifted maiden.” 

With some hesitation, Anaxagoras said, “You make 
no mention of Eudora; and I perceive that both you 
and Philothea are reserved when her name is men- 
tioned. Do not believe every idle rumor, my son. 
The gayety of a light-hearted maiden is often unmixed 
with boldness, or crime. Do not cast her from you 
too lightly.” 

Philaemon averted his face for a moment, and strug- 
gled hard with his feelings. Then turning abruptly, 
he pressed the old man’s hand, and said, “Bid Philo- 
thea, guide and cherish her deluded friend, for my 
sake. And now, farewell, Anaxagoras! Farewell, 
forever! my kind, my good, old master. May the gods 
bless the wise counsels and virtuous example you have 
given me.” 

The venerable philosopher stretched forth his arms 
to embrace him. The young man threw himself upon 
that friendly bosom, and overcome by a variety of con- 
flicting emotions, sobbed aloud. 

As they parted, Anaxagoras again pressed Philaemon 
to his heart, and said, “ May that God, whose numerous 
attributes the Grecians worship, forever bless thee, 
my dear son,” 




CHAPTER X. 

Courage, Orestes ! if the lots- hit right, 

' If the black pebbles don’t exceed the white, 

Vou’ro safe. 

Euripides. 

Pericles sought to please the populace by openly 
using his influence to diminish the power of the Areo- 
pagus; and a decree had been passed that those who 
denied the existence of the gods or introduced new 
opinions about celestial things, should be tried by the 
people. This event proved fortunate for some of his 
personal friends; for Hermippus soon laid before the 
Thesmothetae Archons an accusation of blasphemy 
against Anaxagoras, Phidias, and Aspasia. The case 
was tried before the fourth Assembly of the people; 
and the fame of the accused, together with the well- 
known friendship of Pericles, attracted an immense 
crowd; insomuch that the Prytaneum was crowded to 
overflowing. The prisoners came in, attended by the 
Phylarchi of their different wards. Anaxagoras retained 
his usual bland expression and meek dignity. Phidias 
walked with a haughtier tread, and carried his head 
more proudly. Aspasia was veiled; but as she glided 
along, gracefully as a swan on the bosom of still waters, 
loud murmurs of approbation were heard from the 
crowd. Pericles seated himself near them, with deep 
sadness on his brow. The moon had not completed 
its revolution since he had seen Phidias arraigned 


PHILOTHEA. 


119 


before the Second Assembly of the people, charged by 
Menon, one of his own pupils, with having defrauded 
the state of gold appropriated to the statue of Pallas. 
Fortunately, the sculptor had arranged the precious 
metal so that it could be taken off and weighed; and 
thus his innocence was easily made manifest. But the 
great statesman had seen, by many indications, that 
the blow was in part aimed at himself through his 
friends; and that his enemies were thus trying to as- 
certain how far the people could be induced to act in 
opposition to his well-known wishes. The cause had 
been hurried before the assembly, and he perceived 
that his opponents were there in great numbers. As 
soon as the Epistates began to read the accusation, 
Pericles leaned forward, and burying his face in his 
robe, remained motionless. 

Anaxagoras was charged with not having offered 
victims to the gods; and with having blasphemed the 
divine Phoebus, by saying the sun was only a huge 
ball of fire. Being called upon to answer whether he 
were guilty of this offence, he replied: “Living 
victims I have never sacrificed to the gods; because, 
like the Pythagoreans, I object to the shedding of 
blood; but, like the disciples of their sublime philoso- 
pher, I have duly offered on their altars small goats 
and rams made of wax. I did say I believed the sun 
to be a great ball of fire; and deemed not that in so 
doing I had blasphemed the divine Phoebus,” 

When he had finished, it was proclaimed aloud that 
any Athenian, not disqualified by law, might speak. 
Cleon arose, and said it was well known to the disci- 
ples of Anaxagoras, that he taught the existence of but 
one God. Euripides, Pericles, and others who had 
been his pupils, were separately called to bear testi- 


120 


PHILOTHEA> 


mony; and all said he taught One Universal Mind, of 
which all other divinities were the attributes; even as 
Homer represented the inferior deities subordinate to 
Zeus. 

When the philosopher was asked whether he be- 
lieved in the gods, he answered, “I do: but I believe 
in them as the representatives of various attributes in 
One Universal Mind.” He was then required to swear 
by all the gods, and by the dreaded Erinnys, that he 
had spoken truly. 

The Prytanes informed the assembly that their vote 
must decide whether this avowed doctrine rendered 
Anaxagoras of Clazomenoe worthy of death. A brazen 
urn was carried round, in which every citizen depos- 
ited a pebble. When counted, the black pebbles 
predominated over the white; and Anaxagoras was 
condemned to die. 

The old man heard it very calmly, and replied: 
“Nature pronounced that sentence upon me, before I 
was born. Do what ye will, Athenians, ye can only 
injure the outward case of Anaxagoras; the real, im- 
mortal Anaxagoras is beyond your power.” 

Phidias was next arraigned, and accused of blas- 
phemy, in having carved the likeness of himself and 
Pericles on the shield of heaven-born Pallas; and of 
having said that he approved the worship of the gods, 
merely because he wished to have his own works 
adored. The sculptor proudly replied, “ I never de- 
clared that my own likeness, or that of Pericles, was on 
the shield of heaven-born Pallas; nor can any Athenian 
prove that I ever intended to place them there. I am 
not answerable for offences which have their origin in 
the eyes of the multitude. If their quick discernment 
be the test, crimes may be found written even on the 


PHI L 0 T H E A. 


121 


glowing embers of our household altars. I never said 
I approved the worship of the gods because I wished 
to have my own works adored; for I should have 
deemed it irreverent thus to speak of divine beings. 
Some learned and illustrious guests, who were at the 
symposium in Aspasia’s house, discoursed concerning 
the worship of images, apart from the idea of any 
divine attributes, which they represented. I said I 
approved not of this; and playfully added, that if it 
were otherwise, I might perchance be excused for 
sanctioning the worship of mere images, since mortals 
were ever willing to have their own works adored.” 
The testimony of Pericles, Alcibiades, and Plato, con- 
firmed the truth of his words. 

Cleon declared it was commonly believed that Phi- 
dias decoyed the maids and matrons of Athens to his 
house, under the pretence of seeing sculpture; but in 
fact, to minister to the profligacy of Pericles. The 
sculptor denied the charge; and required that proof 
should be given of one Athenian woman, who had 
visited his house, unattended by her husband or her 
father. The enemies of Pericles could easily have 
procured such evidence with gold; but when Cleon 
sought again to speak, the Prytanes commanded 
silence; and briefly reminded the people that the 
Fourth Assembly had power to decide concerning 
religious matters only. Hermippus, in a speech of 
considerable length, urged that Phidias seldom sacri- 
' ficed to the gods; and that he must have intended 
likenesses on the shield of Pallas, because even Athe- 
nian children recognized them. 

The brazen urn was again passed round, and the 
black pebbles were more numerous than they had 
been when the fate of Anaxagoras was decided. 
11 


122 


PHILOTHEA. 


When Phidias heard the sentence, he raised himself 
to his full stature, and waving his right arm over the 
crowd, said, in a loud voice: “ Phidias can never die! 
Athens herself will live in the fame of Charmides’ 
son.” His majestic figure and haughty bearing awed 
the multitude; and some, repenting of the vote they 
had given, said, “ Surely, invisible Phoebus is with 
him!” 

Aspasia was next called to answer the charges 
brought against her. She had dressed herself in deep 
mourning, as if appealing to the compassion of the 
citizens; and her veil was artfully arranged to display 
an arm and shoulder of exquisite whiteness and beauty, 
contrasted with glossy ringlets of dark hair, that care- 
lessly rested on it. She was accused of saying that 
the sacred baskets of Demeter contained nothing of so 
much importance as the beautiful maidens who carried 
them; and that the temple of Poseidon was enriched 
with no offerings from those who had been wrecked, 
notwithstanding their supplications — thereby implying 
irreverent doubts of the power of Ocean’s god. To 
this, Aspasia, in clear and musical tones, replied: “ I 
said not that the sacred baskets of Demeter contained 
nothing of so much importance as the beautiful mai- 
dens who carried them. But, in playful allusion to the 
love of beauty so conspicuous in Alcibiades, I said that 
he, who was initiated into the mysteries of Eleusis, 
might think the baskets less attractive than the lovely 
maidens who carried them. Irreverence was not in 
my thoughts; but inasmuch as my careless words im- 
plied it, I have offered atoning sacrifices to the mother 
of Persephone, during which I abstained from all 
amusements. When I declared that the temple of 
Poseidon contained no offerings in commemoration of 


PHILOTHEA. 


123 


men that had been wrecked, I said it in reproof of 
those who fail to supplicate the gods for the manes 
of the departed. They who perish on the ocean, may 
have offended Poseidon, or the Virgin Sisters of the 
Deep; and on their altars should offerings be laid by 
surviving friends. 

No man can justly accuse me of disbelief in the 
gods; for it is well known that with every changing 
moon I offer on the altars of Aphrodite doves and 
sparrows, with baskets of apples, roses and myrtles: 
and who in Athens has not seen the ivory car drawn 
by golden swans, which the grateful Aspasia placed in 
the temple of that love-inspiring deity? ” 

Phidias could scarcely restrain a smile, as he lis- 
tened to this defence; and when the fair casuist swore 
by all the gods, and by the Erinnys, that she had 
spoken truly, Anaxagoras looked up involuntarily, 
with an expression of child-like astonishment. Alci- 
biades promptly corroborated her statement. Plato, 
being called to testify, gravely remarked that she had 
uttered those words, and she alone could explain her 
motives. The populace seemed impressed in her fa- 
vor; and when it was put to vote whether sentence of 
death should be passed, an universal murmur arose, of 
“Exile! Exile!” 

The Epistates requested that all who wished to con- 
sider it a question of exile, rather than of death, 
would signify the same by holding up their hands. 
With very few exceptions, the crowd were inclined to 
mercy. Hermippus gave tokens of displeasure, and 
hastily rose to accuse Aspasia of corrupting the youth 
of Athens, by the introduction of singing and dancing 
women, and by encouraging the matrons of Greece to 
appear unveiled. 


124 


PHILOTHEA, 


A loud laugh followed his remarks^ for the comic 
actor was himself far from aiding public morals by an 
immaculate example. 

The Prytanes again reminded him that charges of 
this nature must be decided by the First Assembly of 
the people; and, whether true or untrue, ought to 
have no influence on religious questions brought before 
the Fourth Assembly. 

Hermippus was perfectly aware of this ; but he 
deemed that the vote might be affected by his artful 
suggestion. 

The brazen urn was again carried round ; and fifty- 
one pebbles only appeared in disapprobation of exile. 

Then Pericles arose, and looked around him with 
calm dignity. He was seldom seen in public, even at 
entertainments; hence, something of sacredness was 
attached to his person, like the Salaminian galley re- 
served for great occasions. A murmur like the dis- 
tant ocean was heard, as men whispered to each other, 
“ Lo, Pericles is about to speak”! When the tumult 
subsided, he said, in a loud voice, “ If any here can 
accuse Pericles of having enriched himself at the ex- 
pense of the state, let him hold up his right hand! ” 

Not a hand was raised — for his worst enemies could 
not deny that he was temperate and frugal. 

After a slight pause, he again resumed: “ If any 
man can show that Pericles ever asked a public favor 
for himself or his friends, let him speak! ” 

No words were uttered; but a murmur of discon- 
tent was heard in the vicinity of Cleon and Hermippus. 

The illustrious statesman folded his arms, and waited 
in quiet majesty for the murmur to assume a distinct 
form. When all was hushed, he continued: “ If any 
man believes that Athens has declined in beauty, 


PHILOTHEA. 


125 


wealth, or power, since the administration of Pericles, 
let him give his opinion freely! ” 

National enthusiasm was kindled; and many voices 
exclaimed, “Hail Pericles! All hail to Athens in her 
glory ! ” 

The statesman gracefully waved his hand toward the 
multitude, as he replied, .“ Thanks, friends and brother- 
citizens. Who among you is disposed to grant to Per- 
icles one favor, not inconsistent with your laws, or in 
opposition to the decrees of this assembly ? 

A thousand hands were instantly raised. Pericles 
again expressed his thanks, and said, “The favor I 
have to ask is, that the execution of these decrees be 
suspended, until the oracle of Amphiaraus can be con- 
sulted. If it please you, let a vote be taken who shall 
be the pnessenger.” 

The proposal was accepted; and Antiphon, a cele 
brated diviner, appointed to consult the oracle. 

As the crowd dispersed, Cleon muttered to Hermip- 
pus, “By Circe! I believe he has given the Athenians 
philtres to make them love him. No wonder Archida- 
mus of Sparta said, that when he threw Pericles in 
wrestling, he insisted he was never down, and per- 
suaded the very spectators to believe him.” 

Anaxagoras and Phidias, being under sentence of 
death, were placed in prison, until the people should 
finally decide upon their fate. The old philosopher 
cheerfully employed his hours in attempts to square 
the circle. The sculptor carved a wooden image, 
with many hands and feet, and without a head; upon 
the pedestal of which he inscribed Dernus, and secretly 
reserved it as a parting gift to the Athenian people. 

Before another moon had waned, Antiphon returned 
from Oropus, whither he had been sent to consult the 
11* 


m 


PHILOTHEA, 


oracle. Being called before the people, he gave the 
following account of his mission: “I abstained from 
food until Phoebus had twice appeared above the hills, 
in his golden chariot \ and for three days and three 
nights, I tasted no wine. When I had thus purified 
myself, I offered a white ram to Amphiaraus; and 
spreading the skin on the ground, I invoked the bless- 
ing of Phoebus and his prophetic son, and laid me 
down to sleep. Methought I walked in the streets of 
Athens. A lurid light shone on the walls of the Piraeus, 
and spread into the city, until all the Acropolis seemed 
glowing beneath a fiery sky. I looked up — and lot 
the heavens were in a blaze! Huge masses of flame 
were thrown backward and forward, as if Pandamator 
and the Cyclops were hurling their forges at each 
other’s heads. Amazed, I turned to ask the meaning 
of these phenomena," and I saw that all the citizens 
were clothed in black; and wherever two were walking 
together, one fell dead by his side. Then I heard a 
mighty voice, that seemed to proceed from within the 
Parthenon. Three times it pronounced distinctly, 
‘Wo! wo! wo unto Athens! ’ 

I awoke, and after a time slept again. I heard a 
rumbling noise, like thunder; and from the statue of 
Amphiaraus came a voice, saying, ‘ Life is given by 
the gods.’ 

Then all was still. Presently I again heard a sound 
like the multitudinous waves of ocean, when it rises in 
a storm and Amphiaraus said, slowly, ‘ Count the 
pebbles on the sea-shore — yea, count them twice/ 
Then I awoke; and having bathed in the fountain, I 
threw therein three pieces of gold and silver, and de- 
parted.” 

The people demanded of Antiphon the meaning of 


PHILOTHEA. 


127 


these visions. “He replied: “The first portends 
calamity to Athens, either of war or pestilence. By 
the response of the oracle, I understand that the citi- 
zens are commanded to vote twice, before they take 
away life given by the gods.” 

The wish to gain time had chiefly induced Pericles 
to request that Amphiaraus might be consulted. In 
the interval, his emissaries had been busy in softening 
the minds of the people; and it became universally 
known that, in case Aspasia’s sentence were reversed, 
she intended to offer sacrifices to Aphrodite, Poseidon, 
and Demeter; during the continuance of which, the 
citizens would be publicly feasted at her expense. 

In these exertions, Pericles was zealously assisted 
by Clinias, a noble and wealthy Athenian, the friend 
of Anaxagoras and Phidias, and a munificent patron of 
the arts. He openly promised, if the lives of his 
friends were spared, to evince his gratitude to the 
gods, by offering a golden lamp to Pallas Parthenia, 
and placing in each of the agoras any statue or paint- 
ing the people thought fit to propose. 

Still, Pericles, aware of the bitterness of his enemies, 
increased by the late severe edict against those of for- 
eign parentage, felt exceedingly fearful of the result 
of a second vote. A petition, signed by Pericles, Cli- 
nias, Ephialtes, Euripides, Socrates, Plato, Alcibiades, 
Paralus, and many other distinguished citizens, was 
sent into the Second Assembly of the people, begging 
that the accused might have another trial; and this 
petition was granted. 

When the Fourth Assembly again met, strong 
efforts were made to fill the Prytaneum at a very early 
hour with the friends of Pericles. 

The great orator secluded himself for three preceding 


128 


PHILOTHEA, 


days, and refrained from wine. During this time, 
he poured plentiful libations of milk and honey to 
Hermes, god of Eloquence, and sacrificed the tongues 
of nightingales to Pitho, goddess of Persuasion. 

When he entered the Prytaneum, it was remarked 
that he had never before been seen to look so pale; 
and this circumstance, trifling as it was, excited the 
ready sympathies of the people. When the Epistates 
read the accusation against Anaxagoras, and pro- 
claimed that any Athenian not disqualified by law, 
might speak, Pericles arose. For a moment he looked 
on the venerable countenance of the old philosopher, 
and seemed to struggle with his emotions. Then, 
with sudden impulse, he exclaimed, “ Look on him, 
Athenians! and judge ye if he be one accursed of the 
gods! — He is charged with having said that the sun 
is a great ball of fire; and therein ye deem that the 
abstractions of philosophy have led him to profane the 
sacred name of the Phoebus. We are told that Zeus 
assumed the form of an eagle, a serpent and a golden 
shower; yet those forms do not affect our belief in the 
invisible god. If Phoebus appeared on earth in the 
disguise of a woman and a shepherd, is it unpardona- 
ble for a philosopher to suppose that the same deity 
may choose to reside within a ball of fire? In the 
garden of Anaxagoras you will find a statue of Pallas, 
carved from an olive tree. He Brought it with him 
from Ionia; and those disciples who most frequent his 
house, can testify that sacrifices were ever duly offered 
upon her altar. Who among you ever received an in- 
jury from that kind old man? He was the descendant 
of princes, — yet gave up gold for philosophy, and 
forbore to govern mankind, that he might love them 
more perfectly. Ask the young noble, who has been 


PHILOTHEA. 


129 


to him as a father; and his response will be c Anaxago- 
ras.’ Ask the poor fisherman at the gates, who has 
been to him as a brother; and he will answer ‘Anax- 
agoras.’ When the merry-hearted boys throng your 
doors to sing their welcome to Ornithae, inquire from 
whom they receive the kindest word and the readiest 
gift; ar.d they will tell you, ‘ Anaxagoras.’ The Am- 
phiaraus of Eschylus, says, c I do not wish to appear 
to be a good man, but I wish to be one.’ Ask any of 
the poets, what living man most resembles Amphiaraus 
in this sentiment; and his reply will surely be, * It is 
Anaxagoras.’ 

“Again I say Athenians, look upon his face, and 
judge ye if he be one accursed of the gods!” 

The philosopher had leaned on his staff, and looked 
downward, while his illustrious pupil made this de- 
fence; and when he had concluded, a tear was seen 
slowly trickling down his aged cheek. His accusers 
again urged that he had taught the doctrine of one 
god, under the name of one Universal Mind; but the 
melodious voice and fluent tongue of Pericles had so 
wrought upon the citizens, that when the question 
was proposed, whether the old man were worthy of 
death, there arose a clamorous cry of “ Exile! Exile!” 

The successful orator did not venture to urge the 
plea of entire innocence; for he felt that he still had 
too much depending on the capricious favor of the 
populace. 

The aged philosopher received his sentence with 
thanks; and calmly added, “ Anaxagoras is not exiled 
from Athens; but Athens from Anaxagoras. Evil 
days are coming on this city; and those who are too 
distant to perceive the trophy at Salamis, will deem 
themselves most blessed. Pythagoras said, ‘ When 


130 


PHILOTHEA. 


the tempest is rising, *t is wise to worship the echo.’ ” 

After the accusation against Phidias had been read, 
Pericles again rose and said: “Athenians! I shall 
speak briefly ; for I appeal to what every citizen val- 
ues more than his fortune or his name. I plead for 
the glory of Athens. When strangers from Ethiopia, 
Egypt, Phoenicia, and distant Taprobane, come to 
witness the far-famed beauty of the violet-crowned 
city, they will stand in mute worship before the Par- 
thenon;— and when their wonder finds utterance, 
they will ask what the Athenians bestowed on an artist 
so divine. Who among you could look upon the image 
of virgin Pallas, resplendent in her heavenly majesty, 
and not blush to tell the barbarian stranger that death 
was the boon you bestowed on Phidias ? 

Go, gaze on the winged statue of Rhamnusia, where 
vengeance seems to breathe from the marble sent by 
Darius to erect his trophy on the plains of Marathon! 
Then turn and tell the proud Persian that the hand 
which wrought those fair proportions, lies cold and 
powerless, by vote of the Athenian people. No — ye 
could not say it; your hearts would choke your voices. 
Ye could not tell the barbarian that Athens thus de- 
stroyed one of the most gifted of her sons.” 

The crowd answered in a thunder of applause; 
mingled with the cry of “Exile! Exile!” A few 
voices shouted, “A fine! A fine!” Then Cleon 
arose and said: “ Miltiades asked for an olive crown; 
and a citizen answered, * When Miltiades conquers 
alone, let him be crowned alone. ’ When Phidias can 
show that he built the Parthenon without the assistance 
of Ictinus, Myron, Callicrates, and others, then let 
him have the whole credit of the Parthenon.” 

To this, Pericles replied, “We are certainly much 


PHILOTHEA. 


131 


indebted to those artists for many of the beautiful and 
graceful details of that sublime composition; but with 
regard to the majestic design of the Parthenon, Phidias 
conquered alone, and may therefore justly be crowned 
alone.” 

A vote was taken on the question of exile, and the 
black pebbles predominated. The sculptor heard his 
sentence with a proud gesture, not unmingled with 
scorn; and calmly replied, “ They can banish Phidias 
from Athens, more easily than I can take from them 
the fame of Phidias.” 

When Pericles replied to the charges against As- 
pasia, his countenance became more pale, and his 
voice was agitated: “You all know,” said he, “That 
Aspasia is of Miletus. That city which poets call the 
laughing daughter of Earth and Heaven : where even 
the river smiles, as it winds along in graceful wander- 
ings, eager to kiss every new blossom, and court the 
dalliance of every breeze. Do ye not find it easy to 
forgive a woman, born under these joyful skies, where 
beauty rests on the earth in a robe of sunbeams, and 
inspires the gayety which pours itself forth in playful 
words? Can ye judge harshly of one, who from her 
very childhood has received willing homage, as the 
favorite of Aphrodite, Phoebus, and the Muses? If 
she spoke irreverently, it was done in thoughtless 
mirth ; and she has sought to atone for it by sacrifices 
and tears. 

Athenians ! I have never boasted ; and if I seem to 
do it now, it is humbly, — as befits one who seeks a 
precious boon. In your service I have spent many 
toilsome days and sleepless nights. That I have not 
enriched myself by it, is proved by the well-known 
fact that my own son blames my frugality, and 


152 


PHI10THEA, 


reproachfully calls me the slave of the Athenian 
people.” 

He paused for a moment, and held his hand over 
Aspasia’s head, as he continued: “In the midst of 
perplexities and cares, here I have ever found a solace 
and a guide. Here are treasured up the affections of 
my heart. It is not for Aspasia, the gifted daughter of 
Axiochus, that I plead. It is for Aspasia, the beloved 
wife of Pericles.” 

Tears choked his utterance; but stifling his emotion, 
he exclaimed, “Athenians! if ye would know what it 
is that thus unmans a soul capable of meeting death 
with calmness, behold, and judge for yourselves! ” 

As he spoke, he raised Aspasia’s veil. Her drapery 
had been studiously arranged to display her loveliness 
to the utmost advantage ; and as she stood forth 
radiant in beauty, the building rung with the accla- 
mations that were sent forth, peal after peal, by the 
multitude. 

Pericles had not in vain calculated on the sympathies 
of a volatile and ardent people, passionately fond of 
the beautiful, in all its forms. Aspasia remained 
in Athens, triumphant over the laws of religion and 
morality. 

Clinias desired leave to speak in behalf of Philothea, 
grandchild of Anaxagoras; and the populace, made 
good-humored by their own clemency, expressed a wish 
to hear. He proceeded as follows: “Philothea, — 
whom you all know was, not long since, one of the 
Canephorse, and embroidered the splendid peplus ex- 
hibited at the last Panathenoea, — humbly begs of the 
Athenians, that Eudora, Dione, and Geta, slaves of 
Phidias, may remain under his protection, and not be 
confiscated with his household goods. A contribution 


thilothea. 


133 


would have been raised, to buy these individuals of 
the state, were it not deemed an insult to that proud 
and generous people, who fined a citizen for proposing 
marble as a cheaper material than ivory, for the statue 
of Pallas Parthenia.” 

The request, thus aided by flattery, was almost 
unanimously granted. One black pebble alone ap- 
peared in the urn; and that was from the hand of 
Alcibiades. 

Clinias expressed his thanks, and holding up the 
statue of Urania, he added: “ In token of gratitude for 
this boon, and for the life of a beloved grandfather, 
Philothea consecrates to Pallas Athena this image of 
the star-worshipping muse; the gift of a munificent 
Ethiopian.’ 5 

The populace being in gracious mood, forthwith 
voted that the exiles had permission to carry with them 
any articles valued as the gift of friendship. 

The Prytanes dismissed the assembly; and as they 
dispersed, Alcibiades scattered small coins among 
them. Aspasia immediately sent to the Prytaneum an 
ivory statue of Mnemosyne, smiling as she looked 
back on a group of Hours; a magnificent token that 
she would never forget the clemency of the Athenian 
people. 

Hermippus took an early opportunity to proclaim the 
exhibition of a new comedy, called Hercules and Om- 
phale; and the volatile citizens thronged the theatre to 
laugh at that infatuated tenderness, which in the Pry- 
taneum had well nigh moved them to tears. The actor 
openly ridiculed them for having been so much influ- 
enced by their orator’s least-successful attempt at elo- 
quence; but in the course of the same play, Cratinus 
raised a laugh at his expense, by saying facetiously: 

12 



134 


PHILOTHEA. 


*‘Lo! Hermippus would speak like Pericles! Hear 
him, Athenians! Is he not as successful as Salmoneus, 
when he rolled his chariot over a brazen bridge, and 
hurled torches to imitate the thunder and lightning of 
Zeus? ” 

When the day of trial had passed, Pericles slept 
soundly; for his heart was relieved from a heavy pres- 
sure. But personal enemies and envious artists were 
still active; and it was soon buzzed abroad that the 
people repented of the vote they had given. The ex- 
iles had been allowed ten days to sacrifice to the gods, 
bid farewell to friends, and prepare for departure; but 
on the third day, at evening twilight, Pericles entered 
the dwelling of his revered old master. “ My father,” 
said he, “ I am troubled in spirit. I have just now 
returned from the Piraeum, where I sought an inter- 
view with Clinias, who daily visits the Deigma, and 
has a better opportunity than I can have to hear the 
news of Athens. I found him crowned with garlands; 
for he had been offering sacrifices in the hall. He told 
me he had thus sought to allay the anxiety of his mind 
with regard to yourself and Phidias. He fears the 
capricious Athenians will reverse their decree.” 

“Alas, Pericles,” replied the old man, “what can 
you expect of a people, when statesmen condescend to 
buy justice at their hands, by promised feasts, and 
scattered coin? ” 

“ Nay, blame me not, Anaxagoras,” rejoined Peri- 
cles. “ I cannot govern as I would. I found the 
people corrupted; and I must humor their disease. 
Your life must be saved; even if you reprove me for 
the means. At midnight, a boat will be in readiness 
to conduct you to Salamis, where lies a galley bound 
for Ionia. I hasten to warn Phidias to depart speedily 
for Elis.” 


PHILOTHEA. 


135 


The parting interview between Philothea and her 
repentant friend was almost too painful for endurance. 
Poor Eudora felt that she was indeed called to drink 
the cup of affliction, to its last bitter drop. Her heart 
yearned to follow the household of Anaxagoras; but 
Philothea strengthened her own conviction that duty 
and gratitude both demanded she should remain with 
Phidias. 

Geta and Mibra likewise *had their sorrows — the 
harder to endure, because they were the first they had 
ever encountered. The little peasant was so young, 
and her lover so poor, that their friends thought a 
union had better be deferred. But Mibra was free; 
and Anaxagoras told her it depended on her own 
choice, to go with them, or follow Geta. The grateful 
Arcadian dropped on one knee, and kissing Philothea’s 
hand, while the tears flowed down her cheeks, said: 
“ She has been a mother to orphan Mibra, and I will 
not leave her now. Geta says it would be wrong to 
leave her when she is in affliction .’ 5 

Philothea, with a gentle smile, put back the ringlets 
from her tearful eyes, and told her not to weep for her 
sake ; for she should be resigned and cheerful, where- 
soever the gods might place her; but Mibra saw that 
her smiles were sad. 

At midnight, Pericles came, to accompany Anaxa- 
goras to Salamis. They had been conversing much, 
and singing their favorite songs together, for the last 
time. The brow of the ambitious statesman became 
clouded, when he observed that his son had been in 
tears; he begged that preparations for departure might 
be hastened. The young man followed them to the 
Piraeus; but Pericles requested him to go no further. 
The restraint of his presence prevented any parting 


136 


PHILOTHEA, 


less formal than that of friendship. But he stood 
watching the boat that conveyed them over the waters; 
and when the last ripple left in its wake had disap- 
peared, he slowly returned to Athens. 

The beautiful city stood before him, mantled in 
moonlight’s silvery veil. Yet all seemed cheerless; 
for the heart of Paralus was desolate. He looked 
toward the beloved mansion near the gate Diocharis; 
drew from his bosom a long lock of golden hair; and 
leaning against a statue of Hermes, bowed down his 
head and wept. 


i 


CHAPTER XI. 

*• How 1 love the mellow sage, 

Smiling through the veil of age ! 

Age is on his temples hung, 

But his heart — his heart is young ! ” 

Axacreon. 

A few years passed away and saw Anaxagoras the 
contented resident of a small village near Lampsacus, 
in Ionia. That he still fondly cherished Athens in his 
heart was betrayed only by the frequent walks he took 
to a neighboring eminence, where he loved to sit and 
look toward the ^Egean; but the feebleness of age 
gradually increased, until he could no longer take his 
customary exercise. Philothea watched over him with 
renewed tenderness; and the bright tranquillity he 
received from the world he was fast approaching shone 
with reflected light upon her innocent soul. At times, 
the maiden was so conscious of this holy influence, 
that all the earthly objects around her seemed like 
dreams of some strange foreign land. 

One morning, after they had partaken their frugal 
repast, she said, in a cheerful tone, <c Dear grand- 
father, I had last night a pleasant dream; and Mibra 
says it is prophetic, because she had filled my pillow 
with fresh laurel leaves. I dreamed that a galley, 
with three banks of oars, and adorned with fillets, 
came to carry us back to Athens.” 

With a faint smile, Anaxagoras replied, “ Alas for 
unhappy Athens! If half we hear be true, her ex- 
12* 


1^8 PHILOiTHEX.' 

iled children can hardly wish to be restored to her bo~ 
som. Atropos has decreed that I at least shall never 
again enter her walls. I am not disposed to murmur. 
Yet the voice of Plato would be pleasant to my ears, 
as music on the waters in the night-time. I pray you 
bring forth the writings of Pythagoras, and read me 
something that sublime philosopher has said concern- 
ing the nature of the soul, and the eternal principle of 
life. As my frail body approaches the Place of Sleep, 

I feel less and less inclined to study the outward images 
of things, the forms whereof perish; and my spirit 
thirsteth more and more to know its origin and its des- 
tiny. I have thought much of Plato’s mysterious 
ideas of light. Those ideas were doubtless brought 
from the East; for as that is the quarter where the 
sun rises, so we have thence derived many vital truths, 
which have kept a spark of life within the beautiful 
pageantry of Grecian mythology.” 

“ Paralus often said that the Persian Magi, the Egyp- 
tian priests, and the Pythagoreans imbibed their rev- 
erence for light from one common source,” rejoined 
Philothea. 

Anaxagoras was about to speak, when a deep but 
gentle voice, from some invisible person near them, 
said: 

“ The unchangeable principles of Truth acts upon 
the soul like the sun upon the eye, when it turneth to 
him. But the one principle, better than intellect, 
from which all things flow, and to which all things 
tend, is Good. As the sun not only makes objects vis- 
ible, but is the cause of their generation, nourishment, 
and increase, so the Good, through Truth, imparts be- 
ing, and the power of being known, to every object of 
knowledge. For this cause, the Pythagoreans greet 
the sun with music and with reverence.” 


FHILOTHEA. 


139 


The listeners looked at each other in surprise, and 
Philothea was the first to say, “It is the voice of 
Plato! 55 

“Even so, my friends,” replied the philosopher, 
smiling, as he stood before them. 

The old man, in the sudden joy of his heart, attempted 
to rise and embrace him; but weakness prevented. 
The tears started to his eyes, as he said, “Welcome, 
most welcome, son of Aristo. You see that I am fast 
going where we hope the spirit is to learn its own mys- 
teries.” 

Plato, affected at the obvious change in his aged 
friend, silently grasped his hand, and turned to answer 
the salutation of Philothea. She too had changed; 
but she had never been more lovely. The color on 
her cheek, which had always been delicate as the 
reflected hue of a rose, had become paler by frequent 
watchings; but her large dark eyes were more soft 
and serious, and her whole countenance beamed with 
the bright stillness of a spirit receiving the gift of 
prophecy. 

The skies were serene; the music of reeds came 
upon the ear, softened by distance; while the snowy 
fleece of sheep and lambs formed a beautiful contrast 
with the rich verdure of the landscape. 

“ All things around you are tranquil,” said Plato? 
“ and thus I ever found it, even in corrupted Athens. 
Not the stillness of souls that sleep, but the quiet of 
life drawn from deep fountains.” 

“ How did you find our peaceful retreat? ” inquired 
Philothea. “ Did none guide you? ” 

“Euago of Lampsacus told me what course to pur- 
sue,” he replied; “ and not far distant I again asked 
of a shepherd boy — well knowing that all the children 


140 


PHILOTHEA. 


would find out Anaxagoras as readily as bees are 
guided to the flowers. As I approached nearer, I saw 
at every step new tokens of my friends. The clepsy- 
dra, in the little brook, dropping its pebbles to mark 
the hours; the arytsena placed on the rock for thirsty 
travellers; the door loaded with garlands placed there 
by glad-hearted boys ; the tablet covered with mathe- 
matical lines, lying on the wooden bench, sheltered by 
grape-vines trained in the Athenian fashion, with a 
distaff among the foliage; all these spoke to me of 
souls that unite the wisdom of age with the innocence 
of childhood.” 

“ Though we live in indolent Ionia, we still believe 
Hesiod’s maxim, that industry is the guardian of vir- 
tue,” rejoined Anaxagoras. “ Philothea plies her 
distaff as busily as Lachesis spinning the thread of 
mortal life.” He looked upon his beautiful grandchild, 
with an expression full of tenderness, as he added, 
“ And she does indeed spin the thread of the old man’s 
life; for her diligent fingers gain my bread. But what 
news bring you from unhappy Athens? Is Pericles 
yet alive? ” 

“She is indeed unhappy Athens,” answered Plato. 
“The pestilence is still raging; a manifested form of 
that inward corruption, which, finding a home in the 
will of man, clothed itself in thought, and now com- 
pletes its circle in his corporeal nature. The dream 
at the cave of Amphiaraus is literally fulfilled. Men 
fall down senseless in the street, and the Pirseus has 
been heaped with unburied dead. All the children of 
Clinias are in the Place of Sleep. Hipparete is dead, 
with two of her little ones. Pericles himself was one 
of the first sufferers ; but he was recovered by the skill 
of Hippocrates, the learned physician from Cos. His 


PHILOTHEAr 


141 


former wife is dead, and so is Xapthippus his son. 
You know that that proud young man and his extrava- 
gant wife could never forgive the frugality of Pericles. 
Even in his dying moments he refused to call him 
father, and made no answer to his affectionate inquiries. 
Pericles has borne all his misfortunes with the dignity 
of an immortal. No one has seen him shed a tear, or 
heard him utter a complaint. The ungrateful people 
blame him for all their troubles, as if he had omnipotent 
power to avert evils. Cleon and Tolmides are trium- 
phant. Pericles is deprived of office, and fined fifty 
drachmae.” 

He looked at Philothea, and seeing her eyes fixed 
earnestly upon him, her lips parted, and an eager flush 
spread over her whole countenance, he said, in a tone 
of tender solemnity, “Daughter of Alcimenes, your 
heart reproaches me, that I forbear to speak of Para- 
lus. That I have done so, has not been from forget- 
fulness, but because I have with vain and self-defeating 
prudence sought for cheerful words to convey sad 
thoughts. Paralus breathes and moves, but is appa- 
rently unconscious of existence in this world. He is 
silent and abstracted, like one just returned from the 
cave of Trophonius. Yet, beautiful forms are ever 
with him, in infinite variety; for his quiescent soul 
has now undisturbed recollection of the divine arche- 
types in the ideal world, of which all earthly beauty is 
the shadow.” 

“He is happy, then, though living in the midst of 
death,” answered Philothea: “But does his memory 
retain no traces of his friends? ” 

“One — and one only,” he replied. “ The name 
of Philothea was too deeply engraven to be washed 
away by the waters of oblivion., He seldom speaks ; 


142 


PHTLOTHEA. 


but when he does, you are ever in his visions. The 
sound of a female voice accompanying the lyre is the 
only thing that makes him smile; and nothing moves 
him to tears save the farewell song of Orpheus to 
Eurydice. In his drawings there is more of majesty 
and beauty than Phidias or Myron ever conceived; 
and one figure is always there — the Pythia, the Muse, 
the Grace, or something combining all these, more 
spiritual than either.” 

As the maiden listened, tears started from fountains 
long sealed, and rested like dew-drops on her dark 
eye-lashes. 

Farewell to Eurydice! Oh, how many thoughts 
were wakened by those words! They were the last 
she heard sung by Paralus, the night Anaxagoras de- 
parted from Athens. Often had the shepherds of Ionia 
heard the melancholy notes float on the evening 
breeze; and as the sounds died away, they spoke to 
each other in whispers, and said, “ They come from 
the dwellings of the divinely-inspired one! ” 

Plato perceived that the contemplative maiden was 
busy with memories of the past. In a tone of gentle 
reverence, he added, “ What I have told you proves 
that your souls were one, before it wandered from the 
divine home; and it gives hope that they will be re- 
united, when they return thither, after their weary 
exile in the world of shadows.” 

“ And has this strange pestilence produced such an 
effect on Paralus only? ” inquired Anaxagoras. 

“ Many in Athens have recovered health without 
any memory of the images of things,” replied Plato; 
tc but I have known no other instance where recol- 
lections of the ideal world remained more bright and 
unimpaired than they possibly can be while disturbed 


PHILOTHEA. 


143 


by the presence of the visible. Tithonus formerly 
told me of similar cases that occurred when the plague 
raged in Ethiopia and Egypt; and Artaphernes says 
he has seen a learned Magus, residing among the 
mountains that overlook Taoces, who recovered from 
the plague with a perpetual oblivion of all outward 
forms, while he often had knowledge of the thoughts 
passing in the minds of those around him. If an un- 
known scroll were placed before him, he would read 
it, though a brazen shield were interposed between 
him and the parchment ; and if figures were drawn on 
the water, he at once recognized the forms, of which 
no visible trace remained.” 

“Marvellous, indeed, is the mystery of our being;” 
exclaimed Anaxagoras. 

“It involves the highest of all mysteries,” rejoined 
Plato; “ for if man did not contain within himself a 
type of all that is, — from the highest to the lowest 
plane of existence, — he could not enter the human 
form. At times, I have thought glimpses of these 
eternal truths were revealed to me; but I lost them 
almost as soon as they were perceived, because my 
soul dwelt so much with the images of things. Thus 
have I stood before the thick veil which conceals the 
shrine of Isis, while the narrow streak of brilliant 
light around its edges gave indication of unrevealed 
glories, and inspired the eager but fruitless hope that 
the massive folds would float away, like a cloud before 
the sun. There are indeed times when I lose the light 
entirely, and cannot even perceive the veil that hides 
it from me. This is because my soul, like Psyche 
bending over the sleeping Eros, is too curious to ex- 
amine, by its own feeble taper, the lineaments of the 
divinity whereby it hath been blessed.” 


144 


PHILOTHEA. 


“ How is Pericles affected by this visitation of the 
gods upon the best beloved of his children?” inquired 
Anaxagoras. 

“ It has softened and subdued his ambitious soul,” 
answered Plato; “and has probably helped him to 
endure the loss of political honors with composure. I 
have often observed that affliction renders the heart of 
man like the heart of a little child; and of this I was 
reminded when I parted from Pericles at Salamis, 
whence the galley sailed for Ionia. You doubtless 
remember the little mound, called Cynos-sema? There 
lies the faithful dog, that died in consequence of swim- 
ming after the ship which carried the father of Peri- 
cles, when the Athenians were all leaving their be- 
loved city, by advice of Themistocles. The illustrious 
statesman has not been known to shed a tear amid the 
universal wreck of his popularity, his family, and his 
friends; but standing by this little mound, the recol- 
lections of childhood came over him, and he wept as 
an infant weeps for its lost mother.” 

There was a tremulous motion about the lips of the 
old man, as he replied, “Perchance he was comparing 
the constancy of that affectionate animal with the 
friendship of men, and the happy unconsciousness of 
his boyhood, with the anxious cares that w r ait on great- 
ness. Pericles had a soft heart in his youth; and none 
knew this better than the forgotten old man whom he 
once called his friend.” 

Plato perceived his emotion, and answered, in a 
soothing voice, “ He has since been wedded to politi- 
cal ambition, which never brought any man nearer to 
his divine home; but Anaxagoras is not forgotten. 
Pericles has of late often visited the shades of Acade- 
mus, where he has talked much of you and Philothea, 


P H I L O T H E.A . 


145 


and expressed earnest hopes that the gods would again 
restore you to Athens, to bless him with your wise 
counsels.” 

The aged philosopher shook his head, as he replied, 
“They who would have a lamp should take care to 
supply it with oil. Had Philothea’s affection been 
like that of Pericles, this old frame would have per- 
ished for want of food.” 

“ Nay, Anaxagoras,” rejoined Plato, “you must 
not forget that this Peloponessian war, the noisy feuds 
in Athens, and afflictions in his own family, have in- 
volved him in continual distractions. He who gives 
his mind to politics, sails on a stormy |ea, with a giddy 
pilot. Pericles has now sent you substantial proofs of 
his gratitude; and if his power equalled his wishes, I 
have no doubt he would make use of the alarmed state 
of public feeling to procure your recall.” 

“You have as yet given us no tidings of Phidias and 
his household,” said Philothea. 

“ The form of Phidias sleeps,” replied Plato: “His 
soul has returned to those sacred mysteries, once fa- 
miliar to him; the recollection of which enabled him 
while on earth to mould magnificent images of supernal 
forms — images that awakened in all who gazed upon 
them some slumbering memory of ideal worlds; though 
few knew whence it came, or why their souls were 
stirred. The best of his works is the Olympian Zeus, 
made at Elis, after his exile. It is far more sublime 
than the Pallas Parthenia. The Eleans consider the 
possession of it as a great triumph over ungrateful 
Athens.” 

“Under whose protection is Eudora placed?” in- 
quired Philothea. 

“ I have heard that she remains at the house where 


\/ 


13 


146 


PHILOTHEA. 


Phidias died,” rejoined Plato. “The Eleans have 
given her the yearly revenues of a farm, in considera- 
tion of the affectionate care bestowed on her illustrious 
benefactor. Report says that Phidias wished to see 
her united to his nephew Pandsemus; but I have never 
heard of the marriage. Philaemon is supposed to be in 
Persia, instructing the sons of the wealthy satrap 
Megabyzus.” 

“And where is the faithful Geta? ” inquired Anax- 
agoras. 

“ Geta is at Lampsacus; and I doubt not will hasten 
hither as soon as he has taken care of certain small 
articles of merchandize that he brought with him. 
Phidias gave him his freedom the day they left Athens; 
and after his death, the people of Elis bestowed upon 
him fifty drachmas. He has established himself at 
Phalerum, where he tells me he has doubled this sum 
by the sale of anchovies. He was eager to attend 
upon me, for the sake, as he said, of once more seeing 
his good old master Anaxagoras, and that maiden with 
mild eyes, who always spoke kind words to the poor; 
but I sooner discovered there was a stronger reason 
for his desire to visit Lampsacus. From what we had 
heard, we expected to find you in the city. Geta 
looked very sorrowful, when told that you were fifty 
stadia farther from the sea.” 

“When we first landed on the Ionion shore,” re- 
plied Anaxagoras, “ I took up my abode two stadia 
from Lampsacus, and sometimes went thither to lecture 
in the porticos. But when I did this, 1 seemed to 
breathe an impure air; and idle young men so often 
followed me home, that the maidens were deprived of 
the innocent freedom I wished them to enjoy. Here 
I feel, more than I have ever felt, the immediate pres- 
ence of divinity.” 


PHILOTHEA. 


147 


“ I know not whether it be good or bad,” said 
Plato, “ but philosophy has wrought in me a dislike 
of conversing with many persons. I do not imitate 
the Pythagoreans, who close their gates; for I per- 
ceive that truth never ought to be a sealed fountain; 
but I cannot go into the Prytaneum, the agoras, and 
the workshops, and jest, like Socrates, to captivate the 
attention of young men. When I thus seek to impart 
hidden treasures, I lose without receiving; and few 
perceive the value of what is offered. I feel the 
breath of life taken away from me by the multitude. 
Their praises cause me to fear; lest, according to 
Ibycus, l should offend the gods, but acquire glory 
among men. For these reasons, 1 have resolved never 
to abide in cities.” 

“ The name of Socrates recalls Alcibiades to my 
mind,” rejoined Anaxagoras. “Is he still popular with 
the Athenians? ” 

“He is; and will remain so,” replied Plato, “so 
long as he feasts them at his own expense, and drinks 
three cotylae of wine at a draught. I know not of 
what materials he is made; unless it be of Carpasian 
flax, which above all things burns and consumes not.” 

“ Has this fearful pestilence no power to restrain 
the appetites and passions of the people?” inquired 
the old man. 

“ It has but given them more unbridled license,” 
rejoined Plato. “ Even when the unburied dead lay 
heaped in piles, and the best of our equestrians were 
gasping in the streets, robbers took possession of their 
dwellings, drinking wine from their golden vessels, 
and singing impure songs in the presence of their 
household gods. Men seek to obtain oblivion of dan- 
ger by reducing themselves to the condition of beast3, 


1 48 


PHILOTHEA, 


which have no perception above the immediate wants 
of the senses. All pursuits that serve to connect the 
soul with the world whence it came are rejected. 
The Odeum is shut; there is no more lecturing in the 
porticos; the temples are entirely forsaken, and even 
the Diasia are no longer observed. Some of the better 
sort of citizens, weary of fruitless prayers and sacrifices 
to Phoebus, Phoebe, Pallas, and the Erinnys, have 
erected an altar to the Unknown God; and this altar 
only is heaped with garlands, and branches of olive 
twined with wool.” 

“ A short time ago, he who had dared to propose 
the erection of such an altar would have been put to 
death,” said Anaxagoras. “The pestilence has not 
been sent in vain, if the faith in images is shaken, and 
the Athenians have been led to reverence One great 
Principle of Order, even though they call it unknown.” 

“ It is fear, unmingled with reverence, in the minds 
of many,” replied the philosopher of Academus: 
“They are not aware of the existence of truths which 
do not depend on the will of the majority; nor can 
they conceive of any principles of right and wrong 
that may not be changed by vote of the Athenian 
people. When health is restored, they will return to 
the worship of forms, as readily as they changed from 
Pericles to Cleon, and will again change from him to 
Pericles.” 

The aged philosopher shook his head and smiled, as 
he said: “Ah, Plato! Plato! where will you find ma- 
terials for your ideal republic? ” 

“ In an ideal Atlantis,” replied the Athenian, smil- 
ing in return; “ or perchance in the fabled groves of 
Argive Hera, where the wild beasts are tamed — the 
deer and the wolf lie down together — and the weak 


PHILOTHEA. 


14 § 

animal finds refuge from his powerful pursuer. But 
the principle of a republic is none the less true, be- 
cause mortals make themselves unworthy to receive it. 
The best doctrines become the worst, when they are 
used for evil purposes. Where a love of power is the 
ruling object, the tendency is corruption; and the only 
difference between Persia and Athens is, that in one! 
place power is received by birth, in the other obtained 
by cunning. 

Thus it will ever be, while men grope in the dark- 
ness of their outward nature; which receives no light 
from the inward, because they will not open the doors 
of the temple, where a shrine is placed, from which it 
ever beams forth with occult and venerable splendor. 

Philosophers would do well if they ceased to dis- 
turb themselves with the meaning of mythologic fables 
and considered whether they have not within themselves 
a serpent possessing more folds than Typhon, and far 
more raging and fierce. When the wild beasts within 
the soul are destroyed, men will no longer have to 
contend against their visible forms.” 

“But tell me, O admirable Plato!” said Anaxago- 
ras, “ what connection can there be between the 
inward allegorical serpent, and the created form 
thereof? ” 

“ One could not exist without the other,” answered 
Plato, “ because where there is no ideal, there can 
be no image. There are doubtless men in other parts 
of the universe better than we are, because they stand 
on a higher plane of existence, and approach nearer to 
the idea of man. The celestial lion is intellectual, but 
the sublunary irrational; for the former is nearer the 
idea of a lion. The lower planes of existence receive 
the influences of the higher, according to the purity 


13 * 


150 


PHILOTHEA. 


and stillness of the will. If this be restless and turbid, 
the waters from a pure fountain become corrupted, and 
the corruption flows down to lower planes of existence, 
until it at last manifests itself in corporeal forms. The 
sympathy thus produced between things earthly and 
celestial is the origin of imagination; by which men 
have power to trace the images of supernal forms, in- 
visible to mortal eyes. Every man can be elevated to 
a higher plane by quiescence of the will; and thus 
may become a prophet. But none are perfect ones; 
because all have a tendency to look downward to the 
opinions of men in the same existence with themselves; 
and this brings them upon a lower plane, where the 
prophetic light glimmers and dies. The Pythia at 
Delphi, and the priestess in Dodona, have been the 
cause of very trifling benefits, when in a cautious, pru- 
dent state; but when agitated by a divine mania, they 
have produced many advantages, both public and pri- 
vate, to the Greeks.” 

The conversation was interrupted by the merry 
shouts of children; and presently a troop of boys and 
girls appeared, leading two lambs decked with gar- 
lands. They were twin lambs of a ewe that had died; 
and they had been trained to suck from a pipe placed 
in a vessel of milk. This day for the first time, the 
young ram had placed his budding horns under the 
throat of his sister lamb, and pushed away her head, 
that he might take possession of the pipe himself. The 
children were greatly delighted with this exploit, and 
hastened to exhibit it before their old friend Anaxago- 
ras, who always entered into their sports with a cheer- 
ful heart. Philothea replenished the vessel of milk; 
and the gambols of the young lambs, with the joyful 
laughter of the children, diffused a universal spirit of 


PHILOTHEA. 


151 


gladness. One little girl filled the hands of the old 
philosopher with tender leaves, that the beautifu 
animals might come and eat; while another climbed 
his knees, and put her little fingers on his venerable 
head, saying, “Your hair is as white as the lamb’s; 
will Philothea spin it, father? ” 

The maiden, who had been gazing at the little group 
with looks full of tenderness, timidly raised her eyes 
to Plato, and said, “Son of Aristo, these have not 
wandered so far from their divine home as we have! ” 

The philosopher had before observed the peculiar 
radiance of Philothea’s expression, when she raised her 
downcast eyes; but it never before appeared to him 
so much like light suddenly revealed from the inner 
shrine of a temple. 

With a feeling approaching to worship, he replied, 
“ Maiden, your own spirit has always remained near 
its early glories.” 

When the glad troop of children departed, Plato 
followed them to see their father’s flocks, and play 
quoits with the larger boys. Anaxagoras looked after 
him with a pleased expression, as he said, “He will 
delight their minds, as he has elevated ours. As- 
suredly, his soul is like the Homeric chain of gold, one 
end of which rests on earth, and the other terminates 
in Heaven.” 

Mibra was daily employed in fields not far distant, 
to tend a neighbor’s goats, and Philothea, wishing to 
impart the welcome tidings, took up the shell with 
which she was accustomed to summon her to her eve- 
ning labors. She was about to apply the shell to her 
lips, when she perceived the young Arcadian standing 
in the vine-covered arbor, with Geta; who had seized 
her by each cheek, and was kissing her after the fash- 


152 


PHILOTHEA. 


ioii of the Grecian peasantry. With a smile and a 
blush, the maiden turned away hastily, lest the humble 
lovers should perceive they were discovered. 

The frugal supper waited long on the table before 
Plato returned. As he entered, Anaxagoras pointed 
to the board, which rested on rude sticks cut from the 
trees, and said, “ Son of Aristo, all I have to offer you 
are dried grapes, bread, wild honey, and water from 
the brook.” 

“More I should not taste if I were at the table 
of Alcibiades,” replied the philosopher of Athens. 
“ When I see men bestow much thought on eating 
and drinking, I marvel that they will labor so dili- 
gently in building their own prisons. Here, at least, 
we can restore the Age of Innocence, when no life was 
taken to gratify the appetite of man, and the altars of 
the gods were unstained with blood.” 

Philothea, contrary to the usual custom of Grecian 
women, remained with her grandfather and his guest 
during their simple repast, and soon after retired to her 
own apartment. 

When they were alone, Plato informed his aged 
friend that his visit to Lampsacus was at the request of 
Pericles. Hippocrates had expressed a hope that the 
presence of Philothea might, at least in some degree, 
restore the health of Paralus; and the heart-stricken 
father had sent to entreat her consent to a union with 
his son. 

“ Philothea would not leave me, even if I urged it 
with tears/’ replied Anaxagoras; “ and I am forbidden 
to return to Athens.” 

“ Pericles has provided an asylum for you, on the 
borders of Attica,” answered Plato; “and the young 
people would soon join you, after their marriage. He 


PHILOTHEA. 


153 


did not suppose that his former proud opposition to 
their loves would be forgotten; but he said hearts like 
yours would forgive it all, the more readily because he 
was now a man deprived of power, and his son suffering 
under a visitation of the gods. Alcibiades laughed 
aloud when he heard of this proposition; and said his 
uncle would never think of making it to any but a 
maiden who sees the zephyrs run and hears the stars 
sing. He spoke truth in his profane merriment. Peri- 
cles knows that she who obediently listens to the inward 
voice will be most likely to seek the happiness of others, 
forgetful of her own wrongs.” 

“I do not believe the tender-hearted maiden ever 
cherished resentment against any living thing,” replied 
Anaxagoras. “ She often reminds me of Hesiod’s de- 
scription of Leto: 


‘ Placid to men and to immortal gods; 
Mild from the first beginning of her days; 
Gentlest of all in Heaven.’ 


She has indeed been a precious gift to my old age. 
Simple and loving as she is, there are times when her 
looks and words fill me with awe, as if I stood in the 
presence of divinity.” 

“It is a most lovely union when the Muses and the 
Charities inhabit the same temple,” said Plato. “I 
think she learned of you to be a constant worshipper of 
the innocent and graceful nymphs, who preside over 
kind and gentle actions. But tell me, Anaxagoras, if 
this marriage is declined, who will protect the daughter 
of Alcimenes when you are gone?” 

The philosopher replied, “ I have a sister Heliodora, 
the youngest of my father’s flock, who is Priestess of 
the Sun, at Ephesus. Of all my family, she ha3 least 


l/' 


154 PHILOTHEA. 

despised me for preferring philosophy to gold; and 
report bespeaks her wise and virtuous. I have asked 
and obtained from her a promise to protect Philothea 
when I am gone; but I will tell my child the wishes 
of Pericles, and leave her to the guidance of her own 
heart. If she enters the home of Paralus, she will 
be to him, as she has been to me a blessing like the 
sunshine.” 


CHAPTER XII. 


Adieu, thou sun, and fields of golden light ; 

For the last time I drink thy radiance bright, 

And sink to sleep. 

Aristophanes. 

' . " ' • • S'*" 

The galley that brought Plato from Athens was sent 
on a secret political mission, and was not expected to 
revisit Lampsacus until the return of another moon. 
Anaxagoras, always mindful of the happiness of those 
around him, proposed that the constancy of faithful 
Geta should be rewarded by an union with Mibra. 
The tidings were hailed with joy; not only by the 
young couple, but by all the villagers. The supersti- 
tion of the little damsel did indeed suggest numerous 
obstacles. The sixteenth of the month must on no 
account be chosen; one day was unlucky for a wed- 
ding, because as she returned from the fields an old 
woman busy at the distaff had directly crossed her 
path; and another was equally so, because she had 
seen a weasel, without remembering to throw three 
stones as it passed. But at last there came a day 
against which no objections could be raised. The sky 
was cloudless, and the moon at its full; both deemed 
propitious omens. A white kid had been sacrificed to 
Artemis, and baskets of fruit and poppies been duly 
placed upon her altar. The long white veil woven by 
Mibra and laid by for this occasion, was taken out to 
be bleached in the sunshine and dew. Philothea pre- 


156 


PHILOTHEA. 


sented a zone, embroidered by her own skillful hands; 
Anaxagoras bestowed a pair of sandals laced with 
crimson; and Geta purchased a bridal robe of flaming 
colors. 

Plato promised to supply the feast with almonds and 
figs. The peasant, whose goats Mibra had tended, sent 
six large vases of milk, borne by boys crowned with 
garlands. And the matrons of the village, with whom 
the kind little Arcadian had ever been a favorite, 
presented a huge cake, carried aloft on a bed of flow- 
ers, by twelve girls clothed in white. The humble 
residence of the old philosopher was almost covered 
with the abundant blossoms brought by joyful children. 
The door posts were crowned with garlands annointed 
with oil, and bound with fillets of wool. The bride 
and bridegroom were carried in procession, on a litter 
made of the boughs of trees, plentifully adorned with 
garlands and flags of various colors; preceded by 
young men playing on reeds and flutes, and followed 
by maidens bearing a pestle and sieve. The priest 
performed the customary sacrifices at the altar of 
Hera; the omens were propitious; libations were 
poured; and Mibra returned to her happy home, the 
wife of her faithful Geta. Feasting continued till late 
in the evening, and the voice of music was not hushed 
until past the hour of midnight. 

The old philosopher joined in the festivities, and in 
the cheerfulness of his heart exerted himself beyond 
his strength. Each succeeding day found him more 
feeble; and Philothea soon perceived that the staff on 
which she had leaned from her childhood was about to 
be removed forever. On the twelfth day after Mibra’s 
wedding, he asked to be led into the open portico, that 
he might enjoy the genial warmth. He gazed on the 


PHILOTHEA, 


157 


bright landscape, as if it had been the countenance of 
a friend. Then looking upward, with a placid smile, 
he said to Plato, '“You tell me that Truth acts upon 
the soul like the Sun upon the eye, when it turneth to 
<him. Would that I could be as easily and certainly 
placed in the light of truth, as I have been in this 
blessed sunshine! But in vain I seek to comprehend 
the mystery of my being. All my thoughts on this 
subject are dim and shadowy, as the ghosts seen by 
Odysseus on the Stygian shore.” 

Plato answered: “Thus it must ever be, while the 
outward world lies so near us, and the images of things 
crowd perpetually on the mind. An obolus held close 
to the eye may prevent our seeing the moon and the 
stars; and thus does the ever-present earth exclude 
the glories of Heaven. But in the midst of uncertainty 
iand fears, one feeling alone remains; and that is hope, 
strong as belief, that virtue can never die. In pity to 
the cravings of the soul, something will surely be given 
in future time more bright and fixed than the glimmer*- 
ing truths preserved in poetic fable; even as radiant 
stars a rose from the ashes of Orion’s daughters, to shine 
in the heavens an eternal crown.” 

The old man replied, “I have, as you well know, 
been afraid to indulge in your speculations concerning 
the soul, lest I should spend my life in unsatisfied at- 
tempts to embrace beautiful shadows.” 

“To me likewise they have sometimes appeared 
^doctrines too high and solemn to be taught,” rejoined 
Plato: “Often when I have attempted to clothe them 
in language, the airy forms have glided from me, 
mocking me with their distant beauty. We are told 
of Tantalus surrounded by water that flows away when 
he attempts to taste it, and with delicious fruits above 

14 




158 


PHILOTHEA. 


his head, carried off by a sudden wind whenever he 
tries to seize them. It was his crime that, being ad- 
mitted to the assemblies of Olympus, he brought away 
the nectar and ambrosia of the gods, and gave them 
unto mortals. Sometimes, when I have been led to 
•discourse of ideal beauty, with those who perceive only 
the images of things, the remembrance of that unhappy 
son of Zeus has awed me into silence.” 

While they were yet speaking, the noise of approach- 
ing wheels was heard, and presently a splendid chariot, 
with four white horses, stopped before the humble 
dwelling. 

A stranger, in purple robes, descended from the 
chariot, followed by servants carrying a seat of ivory 
inlaid with silver, a tuft of peacock feathers to brush 
away the insects, and a golden box filled with per- 
fumes. It was Chrysippus, prince of Clazomeme, 
the nephew of Anaxagoras. He had neglected and 
despised the old man in his poverty, but had now come 
to congratulate him on the rumor of Philothea’s ap- 
proaching marriage with the son of Pericles. The 
aged philosopher received him with friendly greeting, 
and made him known to Plato. Chrysippus gave a 
.glance at the rude furniture of the portico, and gathered 
his perfumed robes carefully about him. 

“ Son of Basileon, it is the dwelling of cleanliness, 
though it be the abode of poverty,” said the old man, 
in a tone of mild reproof 

Geta had officiously brought a wooden bench for the 
high-born guest; but he waited till his attendants had 
opened the ivory seat, and covered it with crimson 
cloth, before he seated himself, and replied: “Truly, 
I had not expected to find the son of Hegesibulus in 
so mean a habitation. No man would conjecture that 
you were the descendant of princes.” 


PHIT.OTHEA. 


159 


With a quiet smile, the old man answered, “ Princes 
have not wished to proclaim kindred with Anaxagoras; 
and why should he desire to perpetuate the remem- 
brance of what they have forgotten? ” 

Chrysippus looked toward Plato, and with some 
degree of embarrassment sought to excuse himself, by 
saying, “My father often told me that it was your 
own choice to withdraw from your family; and if they 
have not since offered to share their wealth with you, 
it is because you have ever been improvident of your 
estates.” 

“What! Do you not take charge of them?” in- 
quired Anaxagoras. “ I gave my estates to your 
father, from the conviction that he would take better 
care of them than I could do; and in this I deemed 
myself most provident.” 

“ But you went to Athens, and took no care for your 
country,” rejoined the prince. 

The venerable philosopher pointed to the heavens, 
that smiled serenely above them, and said, “Nay 
young man, my greatest care has ever been for my 
country.” 

In a more respectful tone, Chrysippus rejoined: 

“ Anaxagoras, all men speak of your wisdom; but does 
this fame so far satisfy you, that you never regret you 
sacrificed riches to philosophy? ” 

“ I am satisfied with the pursuit of wisdom, not with 
the fame of it,” replied the sage. “In my youth I \/ 
greatly preferred wisdom to gold; and as I approach 
the Stygian shore, gold has less and less value in my 
eyes. Charon will charge my disembodied spirit but 
a single obolus for crossing his dark ferry. Living 
mortals only need a golden bough to enter the regions 
of the dead.” 


160 


PHILOTHEA. 


The prince seemed thoughtful for a moment, as he 
gazed on the benevolent countenance of his aged 
relative. 

“If it be as you have said, Anaxagoras is indeed 
happier than princes,” he replied. “But I came to 
speak of the daughter of Alcimenes. I have heard 
that she is beautiful, and the destined wife of Paralus 
of Athens.” 

“ It is even so,” said the philosopher; “ and it 
would gladden my heart, if I might be permitted to see 
her placed under the protection of Pericles, before I 
die.” 

“Has a sufficient dowry been provided? ” inquired 
Chrysippus. “No one of our kindred must enter the 
family of Pericles as a slave.” 

A slight color mantled in the old man’s cheeks, as 
he answered, “ I have friends in Athens, who will not 
see my precious child suffer shame for want of a few 
drachmte.” 

“ I have brought with me a gift, which I deemed in 
some degree suited to the dignity of our ancestors,” 
rejoined the prince; “ and I indulged the hope of giving 
it into the hands of the maiden.” 

As he spoke, he made a signal to his attendants, 
who straightway brought from the chariot a silver 
tripod lined with gold, and a bag containing a hundred 
golden staters. At the same moment, Mibra entered, 
and in a low voice informed Anaxagoras that Philothea 
deemed this prolonged interview with the stranger 
dangerous to his feeble health; and begged that he 
would suffer himself to be placed on the couch. The 
invalid replied by a message desiring her presence. 
As she entered, he said to her, “ Philothea behold your 
kinsman Chrysippus, son of Basiieon.” 


PHILO THEA. 


161 


The illustrious guest was received with the same 
modest and friendly greeting that would have been 
bestowed on the son of a worthy peasant. The prihce 
felt slightly offended that his splendid dress and mag- 
nificent equipage produced so little effect oh the 
family of the philosopher; but as the fame of Philo- 
thea’s beauty had largely mingled with other induce- 
ments to make the visit, he endeavored to conceal his 
pride, and as he offered the rich gifts, said in a respect- 
ful tone, “Daughter of Alcimenes, the tripod is from 
Heliodora, Priestess at Ephesus. The golden coin is 
from my own coffers. Accept them for a dowry; and 
allow me to claim one privilege in return. As I cannot 
be at the marriage feast, to share the pleasures of 
other kinsmen, permit the son of Basileon to see you 
how one moment without your veil.” 

He waved his hand for his attendants to withdraw; 
but the maiden hesitated, until Anaxagoras said mildly, 
“ Chrysippus is of your father’s kindred; and it is dis- 
creet that his request be granted.” 

Philothea timidly removed her veil, and a modest 
blush suffused her lovely countenance, as she said,, 
“Thanks, Prince of Clazomense, for these munificent 
gifts. May the gods long preserve you a blessing to 
your family and people.” 

“The gifts are all unworthy of her who receives 
them,” replied Chrysippus, gazing so intently that 
the maiden, with rosy confusion, replaced her veil. 

Anaxagoras invited his royal guest to share a phi- 
losopher’s repast, to which he promised should be 
added a goblet of wine, lately sent from Lampsacus. 
The prince courteously accepted his invitation; and 
the kind old man, wearied with the exertions he had 
made, was borne to his couch in an inner apartment.. 


14 * 


162 


PHILOTHEA. 


When Plato had assisted Philothea and Mibra in 
arranging his pillows, and folding the robe about his 
feet, he returned to the portico. Philothea supposed 
the stranger was about to follow him; and without 
raising her head, as she bent over her grandfather’s 
couch, she said: “ He is feeble, and needs repose. In 
the days of his strength he would not have thus left 
you to the courtesy of our Athenian guest.” 

“Would to the gods that I had sought him sooner!” 
rejoined Chrysippus. “ While I have gathered for- 
eign jewels, I have been ignorant of the gems in my 
own family,” 

Then stooping down, he took Anaxagoras by the 
hand, and said affectionately, “Have you nothing to 
ask of your brother’s son ? ” 

“ Nothing but your prayers for us, and a gentle 
government for your people,” answered the old man. 
“ I thank you for your kindness to this precious or- 
phan. For myself, I am fast going where I shall need 
less than ever the gifts of princes.” 

“Would you not like to be buried with regal honor, 
in your native Clazomenae? ” inquired the prince. 

The philosopher again pointed upward as he replied, 
“Nay. The road to heaven would be no shorter from 
Clazomenge.” 

“And what monument would you have reared to 
mark the spot where Anaxagoras sleeps? ” said 
Chrysippus. 

“ I wish to be buried after the ancient manner, with 
the least possible trouble and expense,” rejoined the 
invalid. “ The money you would expend for a monu- 
ment may be given to some captive sighing in bondage. 
Let an almond tree be planted near my grave, that 
the boys may love to come there, as to a pleasant 
home.” 


PHILOTHEA. 


163 


“ The citizens of Lampsacus, hearing of your illness, 
requested me to ask what they should do in honor of 
your memory, when it pleased the gods to call you 
hence. What response do you give to this message?’ 
inquired the prince. 

The philosopher answered, “ Say to them that I de- 
sire all the children may have a holiday on the anni- 
versary of my death.” 

Chrysippus remained silent for a few moments; and 
then continued: “Anaxagoras, I perceive that you 
are strangely unlike other mortals; and I know not 
how you will receive the proposal I am about to make. 
Philothea has glided from the apartment, as if afraid 
to remain in my presence. That graceful maiden is 
too lovely for any destiny meaner than a royal mar- 
riage. As a kinsman, 1 have the best claim to her; 
and if it be your will, I will divorce my Phoenician 
Astarte, and make Philothea princess of Clazomenie.” 

“Thanks, son of Basileon,” replied the old man; 
“ but I love the innocent orphan too well to bestow 
upon her the burthen and the dangers of royalty.” 

“ None could dispute your own right to exchange 
power and wealth for philosophy and poverty,” said 
Chrysippus; “ but though you are the lawful guardian 
of this maiden, I deem it unjust to reject a splendid 
alliance without her knowledge.” 

“Philothea gave her affections to Paralus even in 
the days of their childhood,” replied Anaxagoras; and 
she is of a nature too divine to place much value on 
the splendor that passes away.” 

The prince seemed disturbed and chagrined by this 
imperturbable spirit of philosophy; and after a few 
brief remarks retreated to the portico. 

Here he entered into conversation with Plato; and 


164 


PltlLOTHEA, 


after some general discourse, spoke of his wishes with 
regard to Philothea. ‘‘Anaxagoras rejects the alli- 
ance, ” said he, smiling; “but take my word for it, 
the maiden would not dismiss the matter thus lightly. 
I have never yet seen a woman who preferred philoso- 
phy to princes.” 

“Kings are less fortunate than philosophers,” re- 
sponded Plato; “ I have known several women who 
preferred wisdom to gold. Could Chrysippus look 
into those divine eyes, and yet believe that Philothea’s 
soul would rejoice in the pomp of princes?” 

The weaLthy son of Basileon still remained incredu- 
lous of any exceptions to woman’s vanity; and finally 
obtained a promise from Plato that he would use his 
influence with his friend to have the matter left en- 
tirely to Philothea’s decision. 

When the maiden was asked by her grandfather, 
whether she would be the wife of Paralus, smitten by 
the hand of disease, or princess of Clazomense, sur- 
rounded by more grandeur than Penelope could boast 
in her proudest days — her innocent countenance ex- 
pressed surprise not unmingled with fear that the mind 
of Anaxagoras Was wandering. But when assured 
that Chrysippus seriously proposed to divorce his wife 
and marry her, a feeling of humiliation came over her, 
that a man, ignorant of the qualities of her soul, should 
be thus captivated by her outward beauty, and regard 
it as a thing to be bought with gold. But the crimson 
tint soon subsided from her transparent cheek, and 
she quietly replied, “Tell the Prince of Clazomenre 
that I have never learned to value riches; nor could I 
do so, without danger of being exiled far from my di- 
vine home.” 

When these words were repeated to Chrysippus, he 


PHILOTHEA. 


165 


exclaimed impatiently, “Curse on the folly which 
philosophers dignify with the name of wisdom !” 

After this, nothing could restore the courtesy he had 
previously assumed. He scarcely tasted the offered 
fruit and wine; bade a cold farewell, and soon rolled 
away in his splendid chariot, followed by his train of 
attendants. 

This unexpected interview produced a singular ex- 
citement in the mind of Anaxagoras. All the occur- 
rences of his youth passed vividly before him; and 
things forgotten for years were remembered like events 
of the past hour. Plato sat by his side till the evening 
twilight deepened, listening as he recounted scenes 
long since witnessed in Athens. When they entreated 
him to seek repose, he reluctantly assented, and said 
to his friend, with a gentle pressure of the hand, “Fare- 
well, son of Aristo. Pray for me before you retire to 
your couch.” 

Plato parted the silver hairs and imprinted a kiss on 
his forehead; then crowning himself with a garland, 
he knelt before an altar that stood in the apartment, 
and prayed aloud: “ O thou, who art King of Heaven, 
life and death are in thy hand! Grant what is good 
for us, whether we ask it, or ask it not; and refuse 
that which would be hurtful, even when we ask it most 
earnestly.” 

“That contains the spirit of all prayer,” said the 
old philosopher. “And now, Plato, go to thy rest; 
and I will go to mine. Very pleasant have thy words 
been to me. Even like the murmuring of fountains in 
a parched and sandy desert.” 

When left alone with his grandchild and Mibra, the 
invalid still seemed unusually excited, and his eyes 
shone with unwonted brightness. Again he recurred 


166 


PHILOTHEA. 


to his early years, and talked fondly of his wife and 
children. He dwelt on the childhood of Philothea with 
peculiar pleasure. “Often, very often,” said he, 
“thy infant smiles and artless speech led my soul to 
divine things; when, without thee, the link would have 
been broken, and the communication lost.” 

He held her hand affectionately in his, and often 
drew her toward him, that he might kiss her cheek. 
Late in the night sleep began to steal over him with 
gentle influence; and Philothea was afraid to move, 
lest she should disturb his slumbers. 

Mibra reposed on a couch close by her side, ready 
to obey the slightest summons; the small earthen 
lamp that stood on the floor, shaded by an open tablet, 
burned dim ; and th 3 footsteps of Plato were faintly 
heard in the stillness of the night, as he softly paced to 
and fro in the open portico. 

Philothea leaned her head upon the couch, and grad- 
ually yielded to the drowsy influence. 

When she awoke, various objects in the apartment 
were indistinctly revealed by the dawning light. All 
was deeply quiet. She remained kneeling by her 
grandfather’s side, and her hand was still clasped in 
his; but it was chilled beneath his touch. She arose, 
gently placed his arm on the couch, and looked upon 
his face. A placid smile rested on his features; and 
she saw that his spirit had passed in peace. 

She awoke Mibra, and desired that the household 
might be summoned. As they stood around the couch 
of that venerable man, Geta and Mibra wept bitterly; 
but Philothea calmly kissed his cold cheek; and Plato 
looked on him with serene affection, as he said, “ So 
sleep the good.” 

A lock of grey hair suspended on the door, and a 


PHILOTHEA. 


167 


large vase of water at the threshold, early announced 
to the villagers that the soul of Anaxagoras had passed 
from its earthly tenement. The boys came with gar- 
lands to decorate the funeral couch of the beloved old 
man; and no tribute of respect was wanting; for all 
that knew him blessed his memory. 

He was buried, as he had desired, near the clepsy- 
dra in the little brook; a young almond tree was 
planted on his grave ; and for years after, all the chil- 
dren commemorated the anniversary of his death, by a 
festival, called Anaxagoreia. 

Pericles had sent two discreet matrons, and four 
more youthful attendants, to accompany Philothea to 
Athens, in case she consented to become the wife of 
Paralus. The morning after the decease of Anax- 
agoras, Plato sent a messenger to Lampsacus, desiring 
the presence of these women, accompanied by Euago 
and his household. As soon as the funeral rites were 
passed, he entreated Philothea to accept the offered 
protection of Euago, the friend of his youth, and con- 
nected by marriage with the house of Pericles. “ I 
urge it the more earnestly, 1 ’ said he, “ because I think 
you have reason to fear the power and resentment of 
Chrysippus. Princes do not willingly relinquish a 
pursuit ; and his train could easily seize you and your 
attendants, without resistance from these simple vil- 
lagers.” 

Aglaonice, wife of Euago, likewise urged the orphan, 
in the most affectionate manner, to return with them to 
Lampsacus, and there await the departure of the gal- 
ley. Philothea acknowledged the propriety of re- 
moval, and felt deeply thankful for the protecting in- 
fluence of her friends. The simple household furniture 
was given to Mibra; her own wardrobe, with many 


167 


PHILOTHEA. 


little things that had become dear to her, were depos- 
ited in the chariot of Euago; the weeping villagers 
had taken an affectionate farewell; and sacrifices to 
the gods had been offered on the altar in front of the 
dwelling. 

Still Philothea lingered and gazed on the beautiful 
scenes where she had passed so many tranquil hours. 
Tears mingled with her smiles, as she said, “ O, how 
hard it is to believe the spirit of Anaxagoras will be as 
near me in Athens as it is here, where his bones lie 
buried! ” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


One. day, the muses twined the hands 
Of infant love with flowery bands, 

And gave the smiling captive boy 
To be Celestial Beauty's joy, 

Anacreon. 

While Philofhea remained at Lampsacus, awaiting 
the arrival of the galley, news came that Chrysippus, 
with a company of horsemen, had been to her former 
residence, under the pretext of paying funeral rites 
to his deceased relative. At the same time, several 
robes, mantles, and veils, were brought from Helior- 
dora at Ephesus, with the request that they, as well as 
the silver tripod, should be considered, not as a dowry, 
but as gifts to be disposed of as she pleased. The 
priestess mentioned feeble health as a reason for not 
coming in person to bid the orphan farewell; and 
promised that sacrifices and prayers for her happiness 
should be duly offered at the shrine of radiant Phosbus, 

Philothea smiled to remember how long she had 
lived in Ionia without attracting the notice of her 
princely relatives, until her name became connected 
with the illustrious house of Pericles; but she meekly 
returned thanks and friendly wishes, together with the 
writings of Simonides, beautifully copied by her own 
hand. 

The day of departure at length arrived. All along 
the shore might be seen smoke rising from the altars 
of Poseidon, ^Eolus, Castor, and Polydeuces and the 
15 


170 


PHILOTHEA. 


sea-green Sisters of the Deep. To the usual danger of 
winds and storms was added the fear of encountering 
hostile fleets; and every power that presided over the 
destinies of sailors was invoked by the anxious mari- 
ners. But their course seemed more like an excursion 
in a pleasure barge, than a voyage on the ocean. 
They rowed along beneath a calm and sunny sky, 
keeping close to the verdant shores, where, ever and 
anon, temples, altars, and statues, peeped forth amid 
groves of cypress and cedar; under the shadow of 
which many a festive train hailed the soft approach of 
spring with pipe, and song, and choral dance. 

The tenth day saw the good ship Halcyone safely 
moored in the harbor of Phalerum, chosen in prefer- 
ence to the more crowded and diseased port of the 
Piraeus. The galley having been perceived at a dis- 
tance, Pericles and Clinias were waiting, with chariots, 
in readiness to convey Philothea and her attendants. 
The first inquiries of Pericles were concerning the 
health of Anaxagoras; and he seemed deeply affected, 
when informed that he would behold his face no more 
Philothea’s heart was touched by the tender solemnity 
of his manner when he bade her welcome to Athens. 
Plato anticipated the anxious question that trembled 
on her tongue; and a brief answer indicated that no 
important change had taken place in Paralus. Clinias 
kindly urged the claims of himself and wife to be con- 
sidered the parents of the orphan; and they all accom- 
panied her to his house, attended by boys burning 
incense, as a protection against the pestilential atmos- 
phere of the marshy grounds. 

When they alighted, Philothea timidly, but ear 
nestly, asked to see Paralus without delay. Their 
long-cherished affection, the full communion of soul 


PHILOTHEA. 


171 


they had enjoyed together, and the peculiar visitation 
which now rested on him, all combined to make her 
forgetful of ceremony. 

Pericles went to seek his son, and found him reclin- 
ing on the couch where he had left him. The invalid 
seemed to be in a state of deep abstraction, and offered 
no resistance as they led him to the chariot. When 
they entered the house of Clinias, he looked around 
with a painful expression of weariness, until they ten- 
derly placed him on a couch. Pie was evidently dis- 
turbed by the presence of those about him, but un- 
mindful of any familiar faces, until Philothea suddenly 
knelt by his side, and throwing back her 'veil, said, 
“Paralus! dear Paralus! Do you not know me?” 
Then his whole face kindled with an expression of joy, 
so intense that Pericles for a moment thought the 
faculties of his soul were completely restored. 

But the first words he uttered showed a total uncon- 
sciousness of past events. “Oh, Philothea! ” he ex- 
claimed, “ 1 have not heard your voice since last 
night, when you came to me and sung that beautiful 
welcome to the swallows, which all the little children 
like so well.” 

On the preceding evening, Philothea, being urged 
by her maidens to sing, had actually warbled that 
little song; thinking all the while of the days of child- 
hood, when she and Paralus used to sing it, to please 
their young companions. When she heard this mys- 
terious allusion to the music, she looked at Plato with 
an expression of surprise ; while Mibra and the other 
attendants seemed afraid in the presence of one thus 
visited by the gods. 

With looks full of beaming affection, the invalid 
continued: “And now, Philothea, we will again walk 


172 


PHILOTHEA. 


to that pleasant place, where we went when you finished 
the song.” 

In low" and soothing tones, the maiden inquired, 
“ Where did we go, Paralus? ” 

“Have you forgotten?” he replied. “We went 
hand in hand up a high mountain. A path wound 
round it in spiral flexures, ever ascending, and com- 
municating with all above and all below. A stream 
of water, pure as crystal, flowed along the path, from 
the summit to the base. W'here we stood to rest 
awhile, the skies were of transparent blue; but higher 
up, the light was purple, and the trees full of doves. 
We saw little children leading lambs to drink at the 
stream, and they raised their voices in glad shouts to 
see the bright waters go glancing and glittering down 
the sides of the mountain.” 

He remained silent and motionless for several min- 
utes; and then continued: “ But this path is dreary. 
I do not like this wide marsh, and these ruined tem- 
ples. W'ho spoke then and told me it was Athens? 
But now I see the groves of Academus. There is a 
green meadow in the midst, on which rests a broad 
belt of sunshine. Above it, are floating little children 
with wings; and they throw down garlands to little chil- 
dren without wings, who are looking upward with joyful 
*aces. Oh, how beautiful they are! Come, Philothea, 
let us join them.” 

The philosopher smiled, and inwardly hailed the 
words as an omen auspicious to his doctrines. All 
who listened were deeply impressed by language so 
mysterious. 

The silence remained unbroken, until Paralus asked 
for music. A cithara being brought, Philothea played 
one of his favorite songs, accompanied by her voice. 


PHILOTHEA. 


173 


The well-remembered sounds seemed to fill him with 
joy beyond his power to express; and again his anx- 
ious parent cherished the hope that reason would be 
fully restored. 

He put his hand affectionately on Philothea’s head, 
as he said, “Your presence evidently has a blessed 
influence; but oh, my daughter, what a sacrifice you 
are making — young and beautiful as you are!” 

“ Nay, Pericles,” she replied, “ I deem it a privi- 
lege once more to hear the sound of his voice; though 
it speaks a strange, unearthly language.” 

When they attempted to lead the invalid from the 
apartment, and Philothea, with a tremulous voice, 
said, “ Farewell, Paralus,” — an expression of intense 
gloom came over his countenance, suddenly as a sunny 
field is obscured by passing clouds. “Not farewell to 
Eurydice! ” he said: “It is sad music — sad music.” 

The tender-hearted maiden was affected even to 
tears, and found it hard to submit to a temporary 
separation. But Pericles assured her that his son 
would probably soon fall asleep, and awake without 
any recollection of recent events. Before she retired 
to her couch, a messenger was sent to inform her that 
Paralus was in deep repose. 

Ciinias having removed from the unhealthy Piraeum, 
in search of purer atmosphere, Philothea found him 
in the house once occupied by Phidias; and the hope 
that scenes of past happiness might prove salutary to the 
mind of Paralus, induced Pericles to prepare the former 
dwelling of Anaxagoras for his bridal home. The 
friends and relations of the invalid were extremely 
desirous to have Philothea’s soothing influence con- 
tinually exerted upon him; and the disinterested maiden 
earnestly wished to devote every moment of her life to 
15 * 


174 


PHILO T H £ A , 


the restoration of his precious health. Under these 
circumstances, it was deemed best that the marriage 
should take place immediately. 

The mother of Paralus had died; and Aspasia, witli 
cautious delicacy, declined being present at the cere- 
mony, under the pretext of ill health; but Phcenarete, 
the wife of Clinias, gladly consented to act as mother of 
the orphan bride. 

Propitiatory sacrifices were duly offered to Artemis, 
Hera, Pallas, Aphrodite, the Fates, and the Graces^ 
On the appointed day, Philothea appeared in bridal 
garments, prepared by Phcenarete. The robe of fine 
Milesian texture, was safFrorr-colored, with a purple 
edge. Over this, was a short tunic of brilliant crimson, 
confined at the waist by an embroidered zone, fastened 
with a broad clasp of gold. Glossy braids of hair 
were intertwined with the folds of her rose-colored 
veil; and both bride and bridegroom were crowned 
with garlands of roses and myrtle. The chariot, in 
which they were seated, was followed by musicians, 
and a long train of friends and relatives. Arrived at 
the temple of Hera, the priest presented a branch 
which they held between them as a symbol of the ties 
about to unite them. Victims were sacrificed, and the 
omens declared not unpropitious. When the gall had 
been cast behind the altar, Clinias placed Philothea’s 
hand within the hand of Paralus; the bride dedicated 
a ringlet of her hair to Hera; the customary vows 
were pronounced by the priest; and the young couple 
were presented with golden cups of wine, from which 
they poured libations. The invalid was apparently 
happy; but so unconscious of the scene he was acting, 
that his father was obliged to raise his hand and pour 
forth the wine. 


PHILOTHEA. 


175 


The ceremonies being finished, the priest reminded 
Philothea that when a good wife died, Persephone 
formed a procession of the best women to scatter 
flowers in her path, and lead her spirit to Elysium. 
As he spoke, two doves alighted on the altar; but one 
immediately rose, and floated above the other, with a 
tender cooing sound. Its mate looked upward for a 
moment; and then both of them rose high in the air, 
and disappeared. The spectators hailed this as an 
auspicious omen; but Philothea pondered it in her 
heart, and thought she perceived a deeper meaning 
than was visible to them. 

As the company returned, with the joyful sound oi 
music, many a friendly hand threw garlands from the 
housetops, and many voices pronounced a blessing. 

In consideration of the health of Paralus, the cus- 
tomary evening procession was dispensed with. An 
abundant feast was prepared at the house of Clinias. 
The gentle and serious bride joined with her female 
friends in the apartments of the women; but no bride- 
groom appeared at the banquet of the men. 

As the guests seated themselves at table, a boy came 
in covered with thorn-boughs and acorns, bearing a 
golden basket filled with bread, and singing, “ I have 
left the worse and found the better.” As he passed 
through the rooms, musicians began to play on various 
instruments, and troops of young dancers moved in 
airy circles to the sound. 

At an early hour, Philothea went to the apartment 
prepared for her in the home of her childhood. Phce- 
narete preceded her with a lighted torch, and her 
female attendants followed, accompanied by young 
Pericles, bearing on his head a vase of water from the 
Fountain of Callirhoe, with which custom required 


76 


PHILOTHEA. 


that the bride’s feet should be bathed. Music was 
heard until a late hour, and epithalamia were again 
resumed with the morning light. 

The next day, a procession of women brought the 
bridal gifts of friends and relatives, preceded by a boy 
clothed in white, carrying a torch in one hand, and a 
basket of flowers in the other. Philothea, desirous to 
please the father of her husband, had particularly re- 
quested that this office might be performed by the 
youthful Pericles — a beautiful boy, the only son of 
Aspasia. The gifts were numerous; consisting of 
embroidered sandals, perfume boxes of ivory inlaid 
with gold, and various other articles, for use or orna- 
ment. Pericles sent a small ivory statue of Persephone 
gathering flowers in the vale of Enna; and Aspasia a 
clasp, representing the Naiades floating with the infant 
Eros, bound in garlands. The figures were intaglio, 
in a gem of transparent cerulean hue, and delicately 
painted. When viewed from the opposite side, the 
effect was extremely beautiful; for the graceful nymphs 
seemed actually moving in their native element. Al- 
cibiades presented a Sidonian veil, of roseate hue and 
glossy texture. Phcenarete bestowed a ring, on which 
was carved a dancing Caryatides; and Plato a cameo 
clasp, representing the infant Eros crowning a lamb 
with a garland of lilies. 

On the third day, custom allow'ed every relative to 
see the bride with her face unveiled; and the fame of 
her surpassing beauty induced the remotest connec- 
tions of the family to avail themselves of the privilege. 
Philothea meekly complied with these troublesome 
requisitions; but her heart was weary for quiet hours, 
that she might hold free communion with Paralus, in 
that beautiful spirit-land, where his soul was wandering 
before its time. 


PHILOTHEA. 


177 


Music, and the sound of Philothea’s voice seemed 
the only links that connected him with a world of 
shadows; but his visions were so blissful, and his 
repose so full of peace, that restless and ambitious men 
might well have envied a state thus singularly combin- 
ing the innocence of childhood with the rich imagination 
of maturer years. 

Many weeks passed away in bright tranquillity; and 
the watchful wife thought she at times perceived faint 
indications of returning health. Geta and Mibra, in 
compliance with their own urgent entreaties, were her 
constant assistants in nursing the invalid; and more 
than once she imagined that he looked at them with an 
earnest expression, as if his soul were returning to the 
recollections of former years. 

Spring ripened into summer. The olive-garlands 
twined with wool, suspended on the doors during the 
festival of Thargelia, had withered and fallen; and all 
men talked of the approaching commemoration of the 
Olympic games. 

Hippocrates had been informed that Tithonus, the 
Ethiopian, possessed the singular power of leading the 
soul from the body, and again restoring it to its func- 
tions, by means of a soul-directing wand; and the idea 
arose in his mind, that this process might produce a 
salutary effect on Paralus. 

The hopes of the anxious father were easily kindled; 
and he at once became desirous that his son should be 
conveyed to Olympia; for it was reported that Tithonus 
would be present at the games. 

Philothea sighed deeply, as she listened to the pro- 
position; for she had faith only in the healing power of 
perfect quiet, and the free communion of congenial 
souls. She yielded to the opinion of Pericles with 


178 


PHI LOTH E A , 


characteristic humility; but the despondency of her 
tones did not pass unobserved. 

“It is partly for your sake that I wish it, my poor 
child,” said he. “ If it may be avoided, I will not see 
the whole of your youth consumed in anxious watch- 
ings.” 

The young wife looked up with a serene and bright 
expression, as she replied, “ Nay, my father, you have 
never seen me anxious, or troubled. I have known 
most perfect contentment since my union with your 


son. 


Pericles answered affectionately, “ I believe it, my 
daughter; and I have marvelled at your cheerfulness. 
Assuredly, with more than Helen’s beauty, you have 


inherited the magical Egyptian powder, whereby she 
drove away all care and melancholy.” 



CHAPTER XIV. 


Iphegenia . — Absent so Jong, with joy I look on thee. 
Jigavtemnon . — And I on thee ; so this is mutual joy. 

Euripides. 


In accordance with the advice of Hippocrates, the 
journey to Olympia was undertaken. Some time before 
the commencement of the games, a party, consisting of 
Pericles, Plato, Paralus, Philothea, and their attend- 
ants, made preparations for departure. 

Having kissed the earth of Athens, and sacrificed to 
Hermes and Hecate, the protectors of travellers, they 
left the city at the Dipylon Gate, and entered the road 
leading to Eleusis. The country presented a cheerless 
aspect; for fields and vineyards once fruitful were 
desolated by ferocious war. But religious veneration 
had protected the altars, and their chaste simplicity 
breathed the spirit of peace; while the beautiful little 
rustic temples of Demeter, in commemoration of her 
wanderings in search of the lost Persephone, spoke an 
ideal language, soothing to the heart amid the visible 
traces of man’s. destructive passions. 

During the solemnization of the Olympic Games, 
the bitterest animosities were laid aside. The inhab- 
itants of states carrying on a deadly war with each 
other, met in peace and friendship. Even Megara, 
with all her hatred to Athens, gave the travellers a 
cordial welcome. In every house they entered, bread 
wine, and salt, were offered to Zeus Xinias, the patron 
of hospitality. 


180 


PHILOTHEA. 


A pleasant grove of cypress trees announced the 
vicinity of Corinth, famed for its magnificence and 
beauty. A foot-path from the grove led to a secluded 
spot, where water was spouted forth by a marble dol- 
phin, at the foot of a brazen statue of Poseidon. 

The travellers descended from their chariots to rest 
under the shadow of the lofty plane trees, and refresh 
themselves with a draught from the fountain. The 
public road was thronged with people on their way to 
Olympia. Most of them drove with renewed eagerness 
to enter Corinth before the evening twilight; for nearly 
all travellers made it a point to visit the remarkable 
scenes in this splendid and voluptuous city, the Paris 
of the ancient world. A few were attracted by the 
cool murmuring of the waters, and turned aside to the 
fountain of Poseidon. Among these was Artaphernes 
the Persian, who greeted Pericles, and made known 
his friend Orsames, lately arrived from Ecbatana. The 
stranger said he had with him a parcel for Anaxagoras; 
and inquired whether any tidings of that philosopher 
nad been lately received in Athens. Pericles informed 
them of the death of the good old man, and mentioned 
that his grand-daughter, accompanied by her husband 
and attendants, was then in a retired part of the grove. 
The Persian took from his chariot a roll of parchment 
and a small box, and placed them in the hands of Geta, 
to be conveyed to Philothea. The tears came to her 
eyes, when she discovered that it was a friendly epistle 
from Philcemon to his beloved old master. It appeared 
to have been written soon after he heard of his exile, 
and was accompanied by a gift of four mime. His 
own situation was described as happy as it could be in 
a foreign land. His time was principally employed in 
instructing the sons of the wealthy satrap, Megabyzus; 


*PHI LOTHE A, 


18! 


& situation which he owed to the friendly recommenda- 
tion of Artaphernes. At the close, after many remarks 
concerning the politics of Athens, he expressed a wish 
to be informed of Eudora’s fate, and an earnest hope 
that she was not beyond the reach of Philothea’s in- 
fluence. 

This letter awakened busy thoughts. The happy 
past and a cheerful future were opened to her mind 
in all the distinctness of memory and the brightness of 
hope. At such moments, her heart yearned for the 
ready sympathy she had been wont to receive from 
Paralus. As she drew aside the curtains of the litter, 
and looked upon him in tranquil slumber, she thought 
of the wonderful gift of Tithonus, with an intense 
anxiety, to which her quiet spirit was usually a stran- 
ger. Affectionate recollections of Eudora, and the 
anticipated joy of meeting, mingled with this deeper 
tide of feeling, and increased her desire to arrive at 
the end of their journey. Pericles shared her anxiety, 
and admitted no delays but such as were necessary for 
the health of the invalid. 

From Corinth they passed into the pleasant valleys 
of Arcadia, encircled with verdant hills. Here nature 
reigned in simple beauty, unadorned by the magnifi- 
cence of art. The rustic temples were generally com- 
posed of intertwined trees, in the recesses of which 
were placed wooden images of Pan, “ the simple shep- 
herd’s awe-inspiring god.” Here and there an aged 
man reposed in the shadow of some venerable oak; 
and the shepherds, as they tended their flocks, wel- 
comed this brief interval of peace with the mingled 
music of reeds and flutes. 

Thence the travellers passed into the broad and 
goodly plains of Elis; protected from the spoiler by 
16 


182 


PHILOTHEA. 


its sacred character, as the seat of the Olympic Games. 
In some places, troops of women might be seen in the 
distance, washing garments in the river Alpheus, and 
spreading them out to whiten in the sun. Fertility 
rewarded the labors of the husbandmen, and the smil- 
ing fields yielded pasturage to numerous horses, which 
Phoebus himself might have prized for strength, fleet- 
ness, and majestic beauty. 

Paralus passed through all these scenes entirely un- 
conscious whether they were sad or cheerful. When he 
spoke, it was of things unrecognized by those of earthly 
mould ; yet those who heard him found therein a strange 
and marvellous beauty, that seemed not altogether 
new to the soul, but was seen in a dim and pleasing 
light, like the recollections of infant years. 

The travellers stopped at a small town in the neigh- 
borhood of Olympia, where Paralus, Philothea, and 
their attendants were to remain during the solemniza- 
tion of the games. The place chosen for their retreat 
was the residence of Proclus and his wife Melissa; 
worthy, simple-hearted people, at whose house Phidias 
had died, and under whose protection he had placed 
Eudora. 

As the chariots approached the house, the loud 
barking of Hylax attracted the attention of Zoila, the 
merry little daughter of Proclus, who was playing in 
the fields with her brother Pterilaus. The moment 
the children espied a sight so unusual in that secluded 
place, they ran with all speed to carry tidings to the 
household. Eudora was busy at the loom; but she 
went out to look upon the strangers, saying, as she did 
so, that they were doubtless travellers, who, in passing 
to the Olympic Games, had missed their way. 

Her heart beat tumultuously when she saw Hylax 


PHILOTHEA. 


183 


capering and fawning about a man who bore a strong 
resemblance to Geta. The next moment, she recog- 
nized Pericles and Plato speaking with a tall, majestic 
looking woman, closely veiled. She darted forward a 
few paces, in the eagerness of her joy; but checked 
herself when she perceived that the stranger lingered; 
for she said, in her heart, “If it were Philothea, she 
could not be so slow in coming to meet me.” 

Thus she reasoned, not knowing that Philothea was 
the wife of Paralus, and that his enfeebled health re- 
quired watchful care. In a few moments her doubts 
were dispelled, and the friends were locked in each 
others’ arms. 

Proclus gave the travellers a hospitable reception, 
and cheerfully consented that Paralus and his attenda nts 
should remain with them. Pericles, having made 
all necessary arrangements for the beloved invalid, 
bade an early farewell, and proceeded with Plato to 
Olympia. 

When Geta and Mibra had received a cordial wel- 
come; and Hylax had somewhat abated his boisterous 
jay; and old Dione, with the tears in her eyes, had 
brought forward treasures of grapes and wine — Eudora 
eagerly sought a private interview with the friend of 
her childhood. 

“Dearest Philothea!” she exclaimed, “ I thought 
you were still in Ionia; and I never expected to see 
you again; and now you have come, my heart is so 
full ” — 

Unable to finish the sentence, she threw herself on 
that bosom where she had ever found sympathy in all 
her trials, and sobbed like a child. 

“My beloved Eudora,” said Philothea, “ you still 
carry with you a heart easily kindled; affections that 
heave and blaze like a volcano.” 


184 


PHILOTHEA. 


The maiden looked up affectionately, and smiled 
through her tears, as she said, “The love you kindled 
in infancy has burned none the less strongly because 
there was no one to cherish it. If the volcano now 
blazes, it only proves how faithfully it has carried the 
hidden fire in its bosom.” 

She paused, and spoke more sadly, as she added,. 
“There was, indeed, one brief period, when it was 
well-nigh smothered. Would to the gods, that might 
pass into oblivion! But it will not. After Phidias 
came to Elis, he made for Plato a small statue of Mne- 
mosyne, that turned and looked upward to Heaven* 
while she held a half-opened scroll toward the earth. 
It was beautiful beyond description; but there was 
bitterness in my heart when I looked upon it; I thought 
Memory should be represented armed with the scourge 
of the Furies.” 

“And did you not perceive,” said Philothea, “that 
yourself had armed the benignant -goddess with a 
scourge? Thus do the best gifts from the Divine 
Fountain become changed by the will of those who 
receive them. But, dearest Eudora, though your 
heart retains its fire, a change has passed over your 
countenance. The cares of this world have driven 
away the spirit of gladness that came with you from 
your divine home* That smiling twin of Innocence is- 
ever present and visible while we are unconscious of 
its existence; but when in darkness and' sorrow the soul 
asks where it has gone, a hollow voice,, like the sound 
of autumn winds, echoes, ‘Gone!/” 

Eudora sighed, as she answered, “ It is even so*. 
But I know not where you could have learned it; for 
you have ever seemed to live in a region above dark- 
ness and storms. Earth has left no shadow on your 


PHILOTHEA. 


185 


countenance. It expresses the same transparent inno- 
cence, the same mild love. A light not of this world 
is gleaming there; and it has grown brighter and 
clearer since we parted. I could almost believe that 
you accompany Hera to the Fountain of Canathus, 
where it is said she every year bathes to restore her 
infant purity.” 

Philothea smiled, as she playfully laid her hand on 
Eudora’s mouth, and said, “Nay, Eudora, you forget 
that flattery produces effects very unlike the Fountain 
of Canathus. We have been gazing in each other’s 
faces, as if we fondly hoped there to read the record 
of all that has passed since we were separated. Yet* 
very little of all that we have known and felt — of all 
that has gradually become a portion of our life — is in- 
scribed there. Perhaps you already know that Anax- 
agoras fell asleep in Ionia. The good old man died 
in peace, as he had lived in love. If I mistake not, 
while I talked with Pericles, Mibra informed you that 
I was the wife of Paralus? ” 

“Yes, dearest Philothea; but not till she had first 
told me of her own marriage with Geta.” 

Philothea smiled, as she replied, “ I believe it is the 
only case in which that affectionate creature thinks of 
herself, before she thinks of me; but Geta is to her an. 
object of more importance than all the world beside. 
When we were in Ionia, I often found her whispering 
magical words, while she turned the seive and shears, 
to ascertain whether her lover were faithful to his 
vows. I could not find it in my heart to reprove her 
fond credulity; — for I believe this proneness to wan- 
der beyond the narrow limits of the visible world is a 
glimmering reminiscence of parentage divine; and 
though in Mibra ’s untutored mind the mysterious im- 
16 * 


186 


PHILOTHEA. 


pulse takes an inglorious form, I dare not deride what 
the wisest soul can neither banish nor comprehend.” 

As she finished -speaking, she glanced toward the 
curtain, which separated them from the room where 
Paralus reposed, watched by the faithful Geta. There 
Was a tender solemnity in the expression of her coun- 
tenance, whereby Eudora conjectured the nature of 
her thoughts. Speaking in a subdued voice, she 
asked whether Paralus would inquire for her, when he 
awoke > 

“He will look for me, and seem bewildered, as if 
something were lost,” replied Philothea. “Since I 
perceived this, I have been careful not to excite pain- 
ful sensations by my absence. Geta will give me notice 
when slumber seems to be passing away.” 

“ And do you think Tithonus can restore him? ” in- 
quired Eudora. 

Philothea answered, “.Fear is stronger than hope. 
I thought I perceived a healing influence in the perfect 
quiet and watchful love that surrounded him in Athens ; 
and to these I would fain have trusted, had it been the 
will of Pericles. But, dearest Eudora, let us not 
speak on this subject. It seems to me like the sacred 
groves, into which nothing unconsecrated may enter.” 

After a short pause, Eudora said, “Then I will tell 
you my own history. After we came to Elis, Phidias 
treated me with more tenderness and confidence than 
he had ever done. Perhaps he observed that my proud y 
impetuous character was chastened and subdued by 
affliction and repentance. Though we were in the 
habit of talking unreservedly, he never alluded to the 
foolish conduct that offended him so seriously. I felt 
grateful for this generous forbearance; and by degrees 
I learned to fear him less, and love him deeply.” 


PHILOTHEA. 


187 


“We received some tidings of him when Plato came 
into Ionia,” rejoined Philothea; “and we rejoiced to 
learn that he found in Elis a rich recompense for the 
shameful ingratitude of Athens.” 

“ It was a rich recompense, indeed,” replied Eu- 
dora. “The people reverenced him as if he were 
something more than mortal. His statue stands in the 
sacred grove at Olympia, bearing the simple inscrip- 
tion : * Phidias, Son of Charmides, Sculptor of the Gods. * 
At his death, the Eleans bestowed gifts on all his ser- 
vants; endowed me with the yearly revenues of a 
farm; and appointed his nephew Pandaenus to the 
honorable office of preserving the statue of Olympian 
Zeus.” 

“Did Phidias express no anxiety concerning your 
unprotected situation?” inquired Philothea. 

“ It was his wish that I should marry Pandaenus,” 
answered Eudora; “ but he urged the subject no far- 
ther, when he found that I regarded the marriage with 
aversion. On his death-bed he charged his nephew to 
protect and cherish me as a sister. He left me under 
the guardianship of Proclus, with strict injunctions 
that I should have perfect freedom in the choice of a 
husband. He felt no anxiety concerning my main- 
tenance; for the Eleons had promised that all persons 
connected with him should be liberally provided at the 
public expense; and I was universally considered as 
the adopted daughter of Phidias.” 

“And what did Pandaenus say to the wishes of his 
uncle,” asked Philothea. 

Eudora blushed slightly as she answered, “ He tried 
to convince me that we should all be happier, if I 
would consent to the arrangement. I could not be- 
lieve this; and Pandaenus was too proud to repeat his 


188 


PHILOTHEA, 


solicitations to a reluctant listener. I seldom see him; 
but when there is opportunity to do me service, he is 
very kind.” 

Her friend looked earnestly upon her, as if seeking 
to read her heart; and inquired, “ Has no other one 
gained your affections? I had some fears that I should 
find you married.” 

“And why did you fear?” said Eudora: “Other 
friends would consider it a joyful occasion.” 

“But I feared^ because I have ever cherished the 
hope that you would be the wife of Philaemon,” rejoined 
her companion. 

The sensitive maiden sighed deeply, and turned 
away her head, as she said, with a tremulous voice, 
“ I have little doubt that Philaemon has taken a Per- 
sian wife, before this time.” 

Philothea nade no reply; but searched for the epistle 
she had received at Corinth, and placed it in the hands 
of her friend. Eudora started, when she saw the well- 
known writing of Philaemon. But when she read the 
sentence wherein he expressed affectionate solicitude 
for her welfare, she threw her arms convulsively about 
Philothea’s neck, exclaiming, “ Oh, my beloved friend, 
what a blessed messenger you have ever been to this 
poor heart! ” 

For some moments, her agitation was extreme; but 
that gentle influence, which had so often soothed her, 
gradually calmed her perturbed feelings; and they 
talked freely of the possibility of regaining Philaemon’s 
love. 

As Eudora stood leaning on her shoulder, Philo- 
thea, struck with the contrast in their figures, said: 
“When you were in Athens, we called you the 
Zephyr; and surely you are thinner now than you- 


PHILOTHEA. 


189 


were then. I fear your health suffers from the anxiety 
of your mind. “ See!” continued she, turning towards 
the mirror — “See what a contrast there is between 
us!” 

“ There should be a contrast,” rejoined Eudora, 
smiling: “ The pillars of agoras are always of lighter 
and less majestic proportions than the pillars of tem- 
ples.” 

As she spoke, Geta lifted the curtain, and Philothea 
instantly obeyed the signal. For a few moments after 
her departure, Eudora heard the low murmuring of 
voices, and then the sound of a cithara, whose tones 
she well remembered. The tune was familiar to her 
in happier days, and she listened to it with tears. 

Her meditations were suddenly disturbed by little 
Zoila, who came in with a jump and a bound, to show 
a robe full of flowers she had gathered for the beauti- 
ful Athenian lady. When she perceived that tears 
had fallen on the blossoms, she suddenly changed her 
merry tones, and with artless affection inquired, 
“ What makes Dora cry? ” 

“ I wept for the husband of that beautiful Athenian 
lady, because he is very ill,” replied the maiden. 

“ See the flowers! ” exclaimed Zoila. “ It looks as 
if the dew was on it; but the tears will not make it 
grow again — will they? ” 

Eudora involuntarily shuddered at the omen con- 
veyed in her childish words; but gave permission to 
carry her offering to the Athenian lady, if she would 
promise to step very softly, and speak in whispers. 

Philothea received the flowers thankfully, and placed 
them in vases near her husband’s couch; for she still 
fondly hoped to win back the wandering soul by the 
presence of things peaceful, pure and beautiful. She 


190 


PHILOTHEA. 


caressed the innocent little one, and tried to induce 
her to remain a few minutes; but the child seemed 
uneasy, as if in the presence of something that inspired 
fear. She returned to Eudora with a very thoughtful 
countenance; and though she often gathered flowers 
for “the tall infant, ” as she called Paralus, she could 
never after be persuaded to enter his apartment. 


CHAPTER XV. 


They in me breathed a voice 
Divine ; that I might know, with listening ears, 
Things past and future; and enjoined me praise 
The race of blessed ones, that live for aye. 

Hesiod. 


“ Philothea to Philjem-jk, greeting: 

The body of Anaxagoras has gone to the Place of 
Sleep. If it were not so, his hand would have written 
in reply to thy kind epistle. I was with him when he 
died, but knew not the hour he departed, for he sunk 
to rest like an infant. 

We lived in peaceful poverty in Ionia; sometimes 
straightened for the means whereby this poor existence 
is preserved, but ever cheerful in spirit. 

I drank daily from the ivory cup thou didst leave for 
me, with thy farewell to Athens; and the last lines 
traced by my grandfather’s hand still remain on the 
tablet thou didst give him. They are preserved for 
thee, to be sent into Persia, if thou dost not return to 
Greece, as I hope thou wilt. 

I am now the wife of Paralus; and Pericles has 
brought us into the neighborhood of Olympia, seeking 
medical aid for my husband, not yet recovered from 
the effects of the plague. Pure and blameless, Paralus 
has ever been — with a mind richly endowed by the 
gods; and all this thou well knowest. Yet he is as 
one that dies while he lives; though not altogether as 


192 


PHILOTHEA. 


one unbeloved by divine beings. Wonderful are the 
accounts he brings of that far-off world where his spirit 
wanders. Sometimes I listen with fear, till all philos- 
ophy seems dim, and I shrink from the mystery of our 
being. When they do not disturb him with earthly 
medicines, he is quiet and happy. Waking, he speaks 
of things clothed in heavenly splendor; and in his 
sleep, he smiles like a child whose dreams are pleas- 
ant. I think this blessing comes from the Divine, by 
reason of the innocence of his life. 

We abide at the house of Proclus, a kind, truth- 
telling man, whose wife, Melissa, is at once diligent 
and quiet — a rare combination of goodly virtues. 
These worthy people have been guardians ofEudora, 
since the death of Phidias; and with much affection, 
they speak of her gentleness, patience, and modest 
retirement. Melissa told me Aspasia had urgently 
invited her to Athens, but she refused, without even 
asking the advice of her guardian. Thou knowest 
her great gifts would have been worshipped by the 
Athenians, and that Eudora herself could not be igno- 
rant of this. 

Sometimes a stream is polluted in the fountain, and 
its waters are tainted through all its wanderings; and 
sometimes the traveller throws into a pure rivulet some 
unclean thing, which floats awhile, and is then rejected 
from its bosom. Eudora is the pure rivulet. A for- 
eign stain floated on the surface; but never mingled 
with its waters. 

Phidias wished her to marry his nephew; and Pan- 
dsenus would fain have persuaded her to consent ; but 
they forebore to urge it, when they saw it gave her 
pain. She is deeply thankful to her benefactor for 
allowing her a degree of freedom so seldom granted 
to Grecian maidens. 


¥H1L0THEA> 


193 


The Eleans, proud of their magnificent statue of 
Olympian Zeus, have paid extraordinary honors to the 
memory of the great sculptor, and provided amply for 
every member of his household. Eudora is industrious 
from choice, and gives liberally to the poor; particu- 
larly to orphans, who, like herself, have been brought 
into bondage by the violence of wicked men, or the 
chances of war. For some time past, she has felt all 
alone in the world; — a condition that marvellously 
helps to bring us into meekness and tenderness of 
spirit. When she read what thou didst write of her 
in thy epistle, she fell upon my neck and wept. 

I return to thee the four minae. He to whose ne- 
cessities thou wouldst have kindly administered, hath 
gone where gold and silver availeth not. Many believe 
that they who die sleep forever; but this they could 
not, if they had listened to words I have heard from 
Paralus. 

Son of Chaerilaiis, farewell. May blessings be 
around thee, wheresoever thou goest, and no evil 
shadow cross thy threshold. 

Written in Elis, this thirteenth day of the increasing 
moon, in the month Hecatombaeon, and the close of 
the eighty-seventh Olympiad.” 

Without naming her intention to Eudora, Philothea 
laid aside the scroll she had prepared, resolved to 
place it in the hands of Pericles, to be entrusted to 
the care of some Persian present at the games, which 
were to commence on the morrow. 

Before the hour of noon, Hylax gave notice of ap- 
proaching strangers, who proved to be Pericles and 
Plato, attended by Tithonus. The young wife received 
them courteously, though a sudden sensation of dread 
ran through her veins with icy coldness. It was agreed 

17 


194 


PHILOTHEA. 


that none but herself, Pericles, and Plato, should be 
present with Tithonus; and that profound silence should 
be observed. Preparation was made by offering sol- 
emn sacrifices to Phoebus, Hermes, Hecate, and Per- 
sephone; and Philothea inwardly prayed to that Divine 
Principle, revealed to her only by the monitions of his 
spirit in the stillness of her will. 

Tithonus stood behind the invalid, and remained 
perfectly quiet for many minutes. He then gently 
touched the back part of his head with a small wand, 
and leaning over him, whispered in his ear. An un- 
pleasant change immediately passed over the counte- 
nance of Paralus; he endeavored to place his hand 
on his head, and a cold shivering seized him. Philo- 
thea shuddered, and Pericles grew pale, as they 
watched these symptoms; but the silence remained 
unbroken. A second and a third time the Ethiopian 
touched him with his wand, and spoke in whispers. 
The expression of pain deepened; insomuch that his 
friends could not look upon him without anguish of 
heart. Finally his limbs straightened, and became 
perfectly rigid and motionless. 

Tithonus, perceiving the terror he had excited, said 
soothingly, “ Oh, Athenians be not afraid. I have 
never seen the soul withdrawn without a struggle with 
the body. Believe me, it will return. The words I 
whispered, were those I once heard from the lips of 
Plato: 4 The human soul is guided by two horses. One 
white, with a flowing mane, earnest eyes, and wings 
like a swan, whereby he seeks to fly; but the other is 
black, heavy and sleepy-eyed — ever prone to lie down 
upon the earth . 5 

“ The second time, I whispered, ‘ Lo, the soul seeketh 
to ascend ! 5 And the third time I said, 4 Behold the 


PHILOTHEA. 


195 


winged separates from that which hath no wings.* 
When life returns, Paralus will have remembrance of 
these words.” 

“ Oh, restore him! Restore him!” exclaimed PhiJo- 
thea, in tones of agonized entreaty. 

Tithonus answered with respectful tenderness, and 
again stood in profound silence several minutes, be- 
fore he raised the wand. At the first touch, a feeble 
shivering gave indication of returning life. As it was 
repeated a second and a third time, with a brief in- 
terval between each movement, the countenance of the 
sufferer grew more dark and troubled, until it became 
fearful to look upon. But the heavy shadow gradually 
passed away, and a dreamy smile returned, like a 
gleam of sunshine after storms. The moment Philo- 
thea perceived an expression familiar to her heart, she 
knelt by the couch, seized the hand of Paralus, and 
bathed it with her tears. 

When the first gush of emotion had subsided, she 
said, in a soft, low voice, “Where have you been, 
dear Paralus? ” The invalid answered: “ A thick va- 
por enveloped me, as with a dark cloud; and a stun- 
ning noise pained my head with its violence. A voice 
said to me, * The human soul is guided by two horses. 
One white, with a flowing mane, earnest eyes, and 
wings like a swan, whereby he seeks to fly; but the 
other is black, heavy, and sleepy-eyed — ; ever prone 
to lie down upon the earth.* Then the darkness began 
to clear away. But there was strange confusion. All 
things seemed rapidly to interchange their colors and 
their forms — the sound of a storm was in mine ears — 
the elements and the stars seemed to crowd upon me 
— and my breath was taken away. Then I heard a 
voice, saying, ‘Lo, the soul seeketh to ascend! ’ And 


196 


FH I LOTH E A ► 


I looked and saw the chariot and horses, of which the 
voice had spoken. The beautiful white horse gazed 
upward, and tossed his mane, and spread his wings 
impatiently; but the black horse slept upon the ground. 
The voice again said, c Behold the winged separates 
from that which hath no wings!* And suddenly the 
chariot ascended, and I saw the white horse on light 
fleecy clouds* in a far blue sky. Then I heard a 
pleasing, silent sound — as if dew-drops made music 
as they fell. I breathed freely, and my form seemed 
to expand itself with buoyant life. All at once, I was 
floating in the air, above a quiet lake, where reposed 
seven beautiful islands, full of the sound of harps; and 
Philothea slept at my side, with a garland on her head. 
I asked, ‘ Is this the divine home, whence I departed 
into the body? * And a voice above my head answered 
* It is the divine home. Man never leaves it. He 
ceases to perceive.* Afterward, I looked downward* 
and saw my dead body lying on a couch. Then again 
there came strange confusion — and a painful clashing 
of sounds — and all things rushing together. But Phi- 
lothea took my hand, and spoke to me in gentle tones* 
and the discord ceased.’* 

Plato had listened with intense interest. He stood 
apart with Tithonus, and they spoke together in low 
tones, for several minutes before they left the apart- 
ment. The philosopher was too deeply impressed to 
return to the festivities of Olympia. He hired an 
apartment at the dwelling of a poor shepherd, and dur- 
ing the following day remained in complete seclusion* 
without partaking of food. 

While Paralus revealed his vision, his father*s soul 
was filled with reverence and fear, and he breathed 
with a continual consciousness of supernatural pres- 


philothea. 


197 


ence. When his feelings became somewhat composed, 
he leaned over the couch, and spoke a few affectionate 
words to his son; but the invalid turned away his head, 
as if disturbed by the presence of a stranger. The 
spirit of the strong man was moved, and he trembled 
like a leaf shaken by the wind. Unable to endure this 
disappointment of his excited hopes, he turned away 
hastily, and sought to conceal his grief in solitude. 

During the whole of the ensuing day, Paralus con- 
tinued in a deep sleep. This was followed by silent 
cheerfulness, which, flowing as it did from a hidden 
source, had something solemn and impressive in its 
character. It was sad, yet pleasant, to see his look 
of utter desolation whenever he lost sight of Philo- 
thea; and the sudden gleam of joy that illumined his 
whole face the moment she re-appeared. 

The young wife sat by his side hour after hour with 
patient love; often cheering him with her soft, rich 
voice, or playing upon the lyre he had fashioned for 
her in happier days. She found a sweet reward in 
the assurance given by all his friends, that her pres- 
ence had a healing power they had elsewhere sought 
in vain. She endeavored to pour balm into the 
wounded heart of Pericles, and could she have seen 
him willing to wait the event with perfect resignation, 
her contentment would have been not unmingled with 

j °y- 

She wept in secret when she heard him express a 
wish to have Paralus carried to the games, to try the 
effect of a sudden excitement; for there seemed to her 
something of cruelty in thus disturbing the tranquillity 
of one so gentle and so helpless. But the idea had 
been suggested by a learned physician of Chios, and 
Pericles seemed reluctant to return to Athens without 


17 * 


198 


PHILO THEA. 


trying this experiment also. Philothea found it more 
difficult to consent to the required sacrifice, because 
the laws of the country made it impossible to accom- 
pany her beloved husband to Olympia; but she sup- 
pressed her feelings; and the painfulness of the strug- 
gle was never fully confessed, even to Eudora. 

While the invalid slept, he was carefully conveyed 
in a litter, and placed in the vicinity of the Hippo- 
drome. He awoke in the midst of a gorgeous specta- 
cle. Long lines of splendid chariots were ranged on 
either side of the barrier; the horses proudly pawed 
the ground, and neighed impatiently; the bright sun 
glanced on glittering armor; and the shouts of the 
charioteers were heard high above the busy hum of 
that vast multitude. 

Paralus instantly closed his eyes, as if dazzled by 
the glare ; and an expression of painful bewilderment 
rested on his countenance. 

In the midst of the barrier stood an altar, on the top 
which was a brazen eagle. When the lists were iii 
readiness, the majestic bird arose and spread its 
wings, with a whirring noise, as a signal for the 
racers to begin. Then was heard the clattering of 
hoofs, and the rushing, of wheels, as when armies meet 
in battle. A young Messenian was, for a time, fore- 
most in the race; but his horse took fright at the altar 
of Taraxippus — his chariot was overthrown — and Al- 
cibiades gained the prize. The vanquished youth ut- 
tered a loud and piercing shriek, as the horses passed 
over him; and Paralus fell senseless in his father’s 
$rms. 

It was never known whether this effect was produced 
by the presence of a multitude, by shrill and discor- 
dant sounds, or by returning recollection, too power- 


PHILOTHEA. 


199 


ful for his enfeebled frame. He was tenderly carried 
from the crowd, and restoratives having been applied, 
in vain, the fnelancholy burden was slowly and care- 
fully conveyed to her who so anxiously awaited his 
arrival. 

During his absence, Philothea had earnestly prayed 
for the preservation of a life so precious to her; and 
as the time of return drew near, she walked in the 
fields, accompanied by Eudora and Mibra, eager to 
catch the first glimpse of his father’s chariot. 

She read sad tidings in the gloomy countenance of 
Pericles, before she beheld the lifeless form of her 
husband. 

Cautiously and tenderly as the truth was revealed 
to her, she became dizzy and pale, with the suddenness 
of the shock. Pericles endeavored to soothe her with 
all the sympathy of parental love, mingled with deep 
feelings of contrition, that his restless anxiety had thus 
brought ruin into her paradise of peace: and Plato 
spoke gentle words of consolation; reminding her 
that every soul, which philosophized sincerely and 
loved beautiful forms, was restored to the full vigor of 
its wings, and soared to the blest condition from which 
it fell. 

They laid Paralus upon a couch, with the belief that 
he slept to wake no more. But as Philothea bent over 
him, she perceived a faint pulsation of the heart. 
Her pale features were flushed with joy, as she ex- 
claimed, “He lives! He will speak to me again! 
Oh, I could die in peace, if I might once more hear 
his voice, as I heard it in former years.” 

She bathed his head with cool perfumed waters, and 
watched him with love that knew no weariness. 

Proclus and Melissa deemed he had fallen by the 


200 


PHILOTHEA. 


dart of Phoebus Apollo; and fearing the god was angry 
for some unknown cause, they suspended branches 
of rhamn and laurel on the doors, to keep off evil 
demons. 

For three days and three nights, Paralus remained 
in complete oblivion. On the morning of the fourth, a 
pleasant change was observed in his countenance; and 
he sometimes smiled so sweetly, and so rationally, that 
his friends still dared to hope his health might be fully 
restored. 

At noon, he awoke ; and looking at his wife with an 
expression full of tenderness, said: “Dearest Philo- 
thea, you are with me. I saw you no more, after the 
gate had closed. I believe it must have been a dream; 
but it was very distinct.” He glanced around the 
room, as if his recollections were confused; but his 
eyes no longer retained the fixed and awful expression 
of one who walks in his sleep. 

Speaking slowly and thoughtfully, he continued: 
“ It could not be a dream. I was in the temple of the 
most ancient god. The roof was of heaven’s pure gold, 
which seemed to have a light within it, like the splen- 
dor of the sun. All around the temple were gardens 
full of bloom. I heard soft, murmuring sounds, like 
the cooing of doves; and I saw the immortal Oreades 
and the Naiades pouring water from golden urns. 
Anaxagoras stood beside me; and he said we were 
living in the age of innocence, when mortals could 
gaze on divine beings unveiled, and yet preserve their 
reason. They spoke another language than the Greeks; 
but we had no need to learn it; we seemed to breathe 
it in the air. The Oreades had music written on 
scrolls, in all the colors of the rainbow. When I 
asked the meaning of this, they showed me a triangle. 


PH ILOTHEA. 


201 


At the top was crimson, at the right hand blue, and at 
the left hand yellow. And they said, ‘ Know ye not 
that all life is threefold? * It was a dark saying; but 
I then thought I faintly comprehended what Pythagoras 
has written concerning the mysterious signification of 
One and Three. Many other things I saw and heard, 
but was forbidden to relate. The gate of the temple 
was an arch, supported by two figures with heavy dra- 
pery, eyes closed, and arms folded. They told me 
these were Sleep and Death. Over the gate was writ- 
ten in large letters, ‘ The Entrance of Mortals/ Be- 
yond it, I saw you standing with outstretched arms, as 
if you sought to come to me, but could not. The air 
was filled with voices, that sung: 

Come! join thy kindred spirit, come! 

Hail to the mystic two in one! 

When Sleep hath passed, thy dreams remain — 

What he hath brought. Death brings again. 

Come hither, kindred spirits, come! 

Hail to the mystic two in one! 

I tried to meet you; but as I passed through the 
gate, a cold air blew upon me, and all beyond was in 
the glimmering darkness of twilight. I would have 
returned, but the gate had closed; and I heard behind 
me the sound of harps and of voices, singing: 

Come hither, kindred spirits, come! 

Hail to the mystic two in one! ” 

Philothea kissed his hand, and her face beamed with 
joy. She had earnestly desired some promise of their 
future union; and now she felt the prayer was an- 
swered. 

“ Could it be a dream? 19 said Paralus: “ Methinks I 
hear the music now/* 


202 


PHILOTHEA. 


Philothea smiled affectionately, as she replied: 
“When sleep hath passed, thy dreams remain.” 

As she gazed upon him, she observed that the su- 
pernatural expression of his eyes had changed; and 
that his countenance now wore its familiar, household 
smile. Still she feared to cherish the hope springing in 
her heart, until he looked toward the place where her 
attendant sat, motionless and silent, and said, “ Mibra, 
will you bring me the lyre? ” 

The affectionate peasant looked earnestly at Philo- 
thea, and wept as she placed it in his hand. 

Making an effort to rise, he seemed surprised at his 
own weakness. They gently raised him, bolstered him 
with pillows, and told him he had long been ill. 

“ I have not known it,” he replied. “ It seems to 
me I have returned from a far country.” 

He touched the lyre, and easily recalled the tune 
which he said he had learned in the Land of Dreams. 
It was a wild, unearthly strain, with sounds of solemn 
gladness, that deeply affected Philothea’s soul. 

Pericles had not visited his son since his return to 
perfect consciousness. When he came, Paralus looked 
upon him with a smile of recognition, and said, “My 
father! ” 

Mibra had been sent to call the heart-stricken parent, 
and prepare him for some favorable change; but when 
he heard those welcome words, he dropped suddenly 
upon his knees, buried his face in the drapery of the 
couch, and his whole frame shook with emotion. 

The invalid continued: “They tell me I have been 
very ill, dear father; but it appears to me that I have 
only travelled. I have seen Anaxagoras often — Plato 
sometimes — and Philothea almost constantly; but I 
have never seen you since I thought you were dying 
of the plague at Athens.” 


PH I LOTHEA. 


203 


Pericles replied, “ You have indeed been ill, my son. 
You are to me as the dead restored to life. But you 
must be quiet now, and seek repose.” 

For some time after the interview with his father, 
Paralus remain edvery wakeful. His eyes sparkled, 
and a feverish flush was on his cheek. Philothea took 
her cithara, and played his favorite tunes. This seemed 
to tranquillize him; and as the music grew more slow 
and plaintive, he became drowsy, and at length sunk 
into a gentle slumber. 

After more than two hours of deep repose he was 
awakened by the merry shouts of little Zoila, who had 
run out to meet Plato, as he came from Olympia. Phi- 
lothea feared, lest the shrill noise had given him pain; 
but he smiled, and said, “The voice of childhood is 
pleasant.” 

He expressed a wish to see his favorite philosopher; 
and their kindred souls held long and sweet communion 
together. When Plato retired from the couch, he said 
to Philothea, “ I have learned more from this dear 
wanderer, than philosophers or poets have ever writ- 
ten. I am confirmed in my belief that no impelling 
truth is ever learned in this world; but that all is re- 
ceived directly from the Divine Ideal, flowing into the 
soul of man when his reason is obedient and still.” 

A basket of grapes, tastefully ornamented with flow- 
ers, was presented to the invalid; and in answer to his 
inquiries, he was informed that they were prepared by 
Eudora. He immediately desired that she might be 
called; and when she came, he received her with the 
most cordial affection. He alluded to past events with 
great clearness of memory, and asked his father several 
questions concerning the condition of Athens. When 


$04 


PHILOTHEA. 


Philothea arranged his pillows, and bathed his head, 
he pressed her hand affectionately, and said, “ It almost 
seems as if you were my wife.” 

Pericles, deeply affected, replied, “ My dear son, 
she is your wife. She forgot all my pride, and con- 
sented to marry you, that she might become your nurse, 
when we all feared that you would be restored to us no 
more.” 

Paralus looked up with a bright expression of 
gratitude, and said, “I thank you, father. This was 
very kind. Now you will be her father, when I am 
gone.” 

Perceiving that Pericles and Eudora wept, he added: 
“Do not mourn because I am soon to depart. Why 
would ye detain my soul in this world? Its best pleas- 
ures are like the shallow gardens of Adonis, fresh and 
fair in the morning, and perishing at noon.” 

He then repeated his last vision, and asked for the 
lyre, that they might hear the music he had learned from 
immortal voices. 

There was melancholy beauty in the sight of one 
so pale and thin, touching the lyre with an inspired 
countenance, and thus revealing to mortal ears the 
melodies of Heaven. 

One by one his friends withdrew; being tenderly 
solicitous that he should not become exhausted by in- 
terviews prolonged beyond his strength. He was left 
alone with Philothea; and many precious words were 
spoken, that sunk deep into her heart, never to be for- 
gotten. 

But sleep departed from his eyes; and it soon be- 
came evident that the soul, in returning to its union 
with the body, brought with it a consciousness of cor- 


PHILOTHEA. 


205 


poreal suffering. This became more and more intense; 
and though he uttered no complaint, he said to those 
who asked him, that bodily pain seemed at times too 
powerful for endurance. 

Pericles had for several days remained under the 
same roof, to watch the progress of recovery; but at 
midnight, he was called to witness convulsive struggles, 
that indicated approaching death. 

During intervals of comparative ease, Paralus re- 
cognized his afflicted parent, and conjured him to think 
less of the fleeting honors of this world, which often 
eluded the grasp, and were always worthless in the 
possession. 

He held Philothea’s hand continually, and often 
spoke to her in words of consolation. Immediately 
after an acute spasm of pain had subsided, he asked to 
be turned upon his right side, that he might see her 
face more distinctly. As she leaned over him, he 
smiled faintly, and imprinted a kiss upon her lips. He 
remained tranquil, with his eyes fixed upon hers; and 
a voice within impelled her to sing: 

Come hither, kindred spirits, come! 

Hail to the mystic two in one ! 

He looked upward, with a radiant expression, and 
feebly pressed her hand. Not long after, his eyelids 
closed, and sleep seemed to cover his features with her 
heavy veil. 

Suddenly his countenance shone with a strange and 
impressive beauty. The soul had departed to return 
to earth no more. 

In all his troubles, Pericles had never shed a tear; 
but now he rent the air with his groans, and sobbed, 
like a mother bereft of her child. 

18 


206 


PHILOTHEA. 


Philothea, though deeply bowed down in spirit, 
was more composed: for she heard angelic voices 
singing : 

When Sleep hath passed, thy dreams remain — • 

What he hath brought, Death brings again. 

Come hither, kindred spirits, come ! 

* Hail to the mystic two in one! 











v 






CHAPTER XVI. 


Thus a poor father, helpless and undone, 

Mourns o’er the ashes of an only son ; 

Takes a sad pleasure the last bones to burn, 

And pour in tears, ere yet they close the urn. 

Homer. 

\ • _ , . r a 

Of the immense concourse collected together at 
Olympia, each one pursued his pleasure, or his inter- 
est, in the way best suited to his taste. Alcibiades 
was proud of giving a feast corresponding in magnifi- 
cence to the chariots he had brought into the course. 
Crowds of parasites flattered him and the other victors, 
to receive invitations in return; while a generous few 
sympathized with the vanquished. Merchants were 
busy forming plans for profitable negociation, and 
statesmen were eagerly watching every symptom of 
jealousy between rival states and contending parties. 

One, amid that mass of human hearts, felt so little 
interest in all the world could offer, that she seemed 
already removed beyond its influence. Philothea had 
herself closed the eyes of her husband, and imprinted 
her last kiss upon his lips. Bathed in pure water, and 
perfumed with ointment, the lifeless form of Paralus 
lay wrapped in the robe he had been accustomed to 
wear. A wreath of parsley encircled his head, and 
flowers were strewn around him in profusion. 

In one hand was placed an obolus, to pay the ferry- 
man that rowed him across the river of death; and in 
the oth ir, a cake made of honey and flour, to appease 


208 


PHI LOTHE A , 


the triple-headed dog, which guarded the entrance to 
the world of souls. 

The bereaved wife sat by his side, and occasionally 
renewed the garlands, with a quiet and serene expres- 
sion, as if she still found happiness in being occupied for 
him who had given her his heart in the innocence and 
freshness of its childhood. 

The food prepared by Mibra’s active kindness was 
scarcely tasted; except when she observed the tears of 
her faithful attendant, and sought to soothe her feelings 
with characteristic tenderness. 

The event soon became universally known; for the 
hair of the deceased, consecrated to Persephone, and a 
vase of water at the threshold, proclaimed tidings of 
death within the dwelling. 

Many of the assembled multitude chose to remain 
until the funeral solemnities were past; some from 
personal affection for Paralus, others from respect to 
the son of Pericles. 

Plato sent two large vases, filled with wine and 
honey; Eudora provided ointments and perfumes; 
Alcibiades presented a white cloak, richly embroidered 
with silver; and the young men of Athens, present at 
the games, gave a silver urn, on which were sculp- 
tured weeping genii, with their torches turned down- 
ward. 

Enveloped in his glittering mantle, and covered with 
flowers, the form of Paralus remained until the third 
day. The procession, which was to attend the body 
to the funeral pile, formed at morning twilight; for such 
was the custom with regard to those who died in their 
youth. Philothea followed the bier, dressed in white, 
with a wreath of roses and myrtle around her head, 
and a garland about the waist. She chose this beauti- 


PHILOTHEA. 


209 


ful manner to express her joy that his pure spirit had 
passed into Elysium. 

At the door of the house, the nearest relatives ad- 
dressed the inanimate form, so soon to be removed 
from the sight of mortals. In tones of anguish, almost 
amounting to despair, Pericles exclaimed: “Oh, my 
son! my son! Why didst thou leave us? Why wast 
thou, so richly gifted of the gods, to be taken from us 
in thy youth ? Oh, my son, why was I left to mourn 
for thee ? ” 

Instead of the usual shrieks and lamentations of 
Grecian women, Philothea said, in sad, heart-moving 
accents: “ Paralus, farewell ! Husband of my youth, 
beloved of my heart, farewell ! ” 

Then the dead was carried out; and the procession 
moved forward, to the sound of many voices and many 
instruments, mingled in a loud and solemn dirge. The 
body of Paralus was reverently laid upon the funeral 
pile, with the garments he had been accustomed to 
wear; his lyre and Phrygian flute; and vases filled 
with oil and perfumes. 

Plentiful libations of wine, honey, and milk were 
poured upon the ground, and the mourners smote the 
earth with their feet, while they uttered supplications 
to Hermes, Hecate and Pluto. Pericles applied the 
torch to the pile, first invoking the aid of Boreas and 
Zephyrus, that it might consume quickly. As the 
flames rose, the procession walked slowly three times 
around the pile, moving toward the left hand. The 
solemn dirge was resumed, and continued until the last 
flickering tongue of fire was extinguished with wine. 
Then those who had borne the silver urn in front of 
the hearse, approached. Pericles, with tender rever- 
ence, gathered the whitened bones, sprinkled them. 

18 '* 


210 


PHILO t'H £ A . 


with wine and perfumes, placed them within the urri, 
and covered it with a purple pall, inwrought with gold ' r 
which Philothea’s prophetic love had prepared for the 
occasion. 

The procession again moved forward, with torches 
turned downward; and the remains of Paralus were 
deposited in the Temple of Persephone, until his friends 
returned to Athens. 

In token of gratitude for kind attentions bestowed by 
the household of Proclus, Pericles invited his family to 
visit the far-famed wonders of the violet-crowned city; 
and the eager solicitations of young Pterilaiis induced 
the father to accept this invitation for himself and son. 
As an inhabitant of consecrated Elis, without wealth, 
and unknown to fame, it was deemed that he might 
return in safety, even after hostilities were renewed 
between the Peloponessian states. Eudora likewise 
obtained permission to accompany her friend; and her 
sad farewell was cheered by an indefinite hope that 
future times would restore her to that quiet home. 
The virtuous Melissa parted from them with many 
blessings and tears. Zoila was in an agony of childish 
sofrow; but she wiped her eyes with the corner of her 
robe, and listened, well pleased, to Eudora’s parting 
promise of sending her a flock of marble sheep, with a 
painted wooden shepherd. 

The women travelled together in a chariot, in front 
of which reposed the silver urn, covered with its purple 
pall. Thus sadly did Philothea return through the 
same scenes she had lately traversed with hopes, which, 
in the light of memory, now seemed like positive en- 
joyment. Pericles indeed treated her with truly pa- 
rental tenderness; and no soothing attention, that re- 
spect or affection could suggest, was omitted by her 


I*HILOTHEjC. 


2lf 

friends. But he, of whose mysterious existence her 
own seemed a necessary portion, had gone to return 
no more; and had it not been for the presence of Eu- 
dora, she would have felt that every bond of sympathy 
with this world of forms had ceased forever. 

At Corinth, the travellers again turned aside to the 
Fountain of Poseidon, that the curiosity of PterilaUs 
might be satisfied with a view of the statues by which 
it was surrounded. 

“When we are in Athens, I will show you some- 
thing more beautiful than these,” said Pericles. 
“ You shall see the Pallas Athenae, carved by Phi- 
dias.” 

“Men say it is not so grand as the statue of Zeus, 
that we have at Olympia,” replied the boy. 

“ Had you rather witness the sports of the gymnasia 
than the works of artists? ” inquired Plato. 

The youth answered very promptly, “Ah, no in- 
deed. I would rather gain one prize from the Chora- 
gus, than ten from the Gymnasiarch. Anniceris, the 
Cyrenman, proudly displayed his skill in chariot- 
driving, by riding several times around the Academia, 
each time preserving the exact orbit of his wheels. 
The spectators applauded loudly; but Plato said, 4 He 
who has bestowed such diligence to acquire trifling 
and useless things, must have neglected those that are 
truly admirable. 5 Of all sights in Athens, I most wish 
to see the philosophers; and none so much as Plato. 55 

The company smiled, and the philosopher answered, 
“ I am Plato.” 

“You told us that your name was Aristocles,” re- 
turned PterilaUs; “and we always called you so. 
Once I heard that Athenian lady call you Plato; and 
1 could not understand why she did so,” 


212 


PHILOTHEA. 


“ I was named Aristocles, for my grandfather,” an- 
swered the philosopher; “ and when 1 grew older, men 
called me Plato.” 

“ Bat you cannot be the Plato that I mean,” said 
Pterilaiis; 4 * for you carried my little sister Zoila on 
your shoulders — and played peep with her among the 
vines; and when I chased you through the fields, you 
ran so fast that I could not catch you.” 

The philosopher smiled, as he replied, “Neverthe- 
less, I am Plato; and they call me by that name, be- 
cause my shoulders are broad enough to carry little 
children.” 

The boy still insisted that he alluded to another 
Plato. “ I mean the philosopher, who teaches in the 
groves of Academus,” continued he. “I knew a 
freedman of his, who said he never allowed himself to 
be angry, or to speak in a loud voice. He never but 
once raised his hand to strike him; and that was because 
he had mischievously upset a poor old woman’s basket 
of figs; feeling that he was in a passion, he suddenly 
checked himself, and stood perfectly still. A friend 
coming in asked him what he was doing; and the phi- 
losopher replied, ‘ I am punishing an angry man.’ 

“Speusippus, his sister’s son, w r as such a careless, 
indecent, and boisterous youth, that his parents could 
not control him. They sent him to his uncle Plato, 
who received him in a friendly manner, and forbore to 
reproach him. Only in his own example he was al- 
ways modest and placid. This so excited the admira- 
tion of Speusippus, that a love of philosophy was kin- 
dled within him. Some of his relatives blamed Plato, 
because he did not chastise the impertinent youth; but 
he replied, “ There is no reproof so severe as to show 
him, by the manner of my own life, the contrast between 


PHILOTHEA. 


213 


virtue and baseness.’ — That is the Plato I want you 
to show me, when we are in Athens.” 

Proclus, perceiving a universal smile, modestly 
added, by way of explanation: “My son means him 
whom men call the divine Plato. He greatly desires 
to see that philosopher, of whom it is said Socrates 
dreamed, when he first received him as his pupil. In 
his dream he saw a swan without wings, that came and 
sat upon his bosom; and soon after, its wings grew, 
and it flew high up in the air, with melodious notes, 
alluring all who heard it.” 

Pericles laid his hand on the philosopher’s shoulder, 
and smiling, answered, “ My unbelieving friend, this 
is the teacher of Academus; this is the divine Plato; 
this is the soaring swan, whose melodious notes allure 
all that hear him.” 

Proclus was covered with confusion, but still seemed 
half incredulous. “What would Melissa say,” 'ex- 
claimed he, “if she knew that her frolicsome little 
plaything, Zoila, had been rude enough to throw flow- 
ers at the divine Plato.” 

“ Nay, my friend,” replied the disciple of Socrates 
— what better could a philosopher desire, than to be 
pelted with roses by childhood? ” 

Eudora looked up with an arch expression; and 
Philothea smiled as she said, “This is a new version 
of unknown Phoebus tending the flocks of Admetus.” 

Pterilaiis seemed utterly confounded by a discovery 
so unexpected. It was long before he regained his 
usual freedom; and from time to time he was observed 
to fix a scrutinizing gaze on the countenance of Plato, 
as if seeking to read the mystery of his hidden great- 
ness. 

As the travellers approached Athens, they were met 


214 


PHILOTHEA. 


by a numerous procession of magistrates, citizens, and 
young men bearing garlands, which they heaped on 
the urn in such profusion that it resembled a pyramid 
of flowers. They passed the chariots with their arms 
and ensigns of office all reversed; then turned and 
followed to the abode of Pericles, singing dirges as 
they went, and filling the air with the melancholy 
music of the Mysian flute. 

The amiable character of the deceased, his genius, 
the peculiar circumstances attending his death, and 
the accumulated afflictions of his illustrious parent, all 
combined to render it an impressive scene. Even the 
gay selfishness of Alcibiades was subdued into rever- 
ence, as he carefully took the urn from the chariot, 
and gave it to attendants who placed it beside the 
household altar. 

Early the next morning, a procession again formed 
to convey the ashes of Paralus to the sepulchre of his 
fathers; called, in the beautiful language of the Greeks, 
a Place of Sleep. 

When the urn was again brought forth, Philothea’s 
long golden hair covered it, like a mantle of sun- 
beams. During his life-time, these shining tresses 
had been peculiarly dear to him; and in token of her 
love, she placed them on his grave. Her white robe 
was changed for coarse black garments; and instead 
of flowery wreaths, a long black veil covered the beau- 
tiful head, from which its richest ornament had just 
been severed. She had rejoiced for his happy spirit, 
and now she mourned her own widowed lot. 

At the sepulchre, Pericles pronounced a funeral 
oration on the most gifted, and best-beloved of his 
children. In the evening, kindred and friends met at 
his house to partake a feast prepared for the occasion; 


PHILOTHEA. 


215 


and every guest had something to relate concerning 
the genius and the virtues of him who slept. 

A similar feast was prepared in the apartments of the 
women, where Philothea remained silent and com- 
posed; a circumstance that excited no small degree of 
wonder and remark, among those who measured affec- 
tion by the vehemence of grief. 

As soon as all ceremonies were completed she ob- 
tained leave to return to her early home, endeared by 
many happy scenes; and there, in the stillness of her 
own heart, she held communion with the dear de- 
parted. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

There await me till I die ; prepare 
A mansion for me, as again with me 
To dwell ; for in thy tomb will I be laid, 

In the same cedar, by thy side composed : 

For e’en in death 1 will not be disjoined. 

Eitrifides. 

It soon became evident that a great change had 
taken place in Philothea’s health. Some attributed it 
to the atmosphere of Athens, still infected with the 
plague; others ^supposed it had its origin in the death 
of Paralus. The widowed one, far from cherishing her 
grief, made a strong effort to be cheerful; but her 
gentle smile, like moonlight in a painting, retained its 
sweetness when the life was gone. There was some- 
thing in this perfect stillness of resignation more affect- 
ing than the utmost agony of sorrow. She complained 
of no illness, but grew thinner and thinner, like a cloud 
gradually floating away, and retaining its transparent 
beauty to the last. Eudora lavished the most affec- 
tionate attentions upon her friend, conscious that she 
was merely strewing flowers in her pathway to the 
tomb. 

A few weeks after their return to Athens, she said, 
“ Dearest Eudora, do you remember the story of the 
nymph Erato, who implored the assistance of Areas, 
when the swelling torrent threatened to carry away 
the tree over which she presided, and on whose pre- 
servation her life depended? ” 


fHILOTHEA. 


217 


r< I remember it well,” replied Eudora: “Dione 
told it to me when I was quite a child; and I could 
never after see a tree torn by the lightning, or carried 
away by the flood, or felled by the woodman, without 
a shrinking and shivering feeling, lest some gentle, 
fair-haired Dryad had perished with it.” 

Philothea answered, e< Thus was I affected, when 
my grandfather first read to me Hesiod’s account of 
the Muses: 

‘Tar round, the dusky earth 
Brings with their hymning voices ; and beneath 
Their many-rustling feet a pleasant sound 
Ariseth, as they take their onward way 
To their pwn father’s presence.’ 

never after could hear the quivering of summer 
leaves, or the busy hum of insects, without thinking it 
was the echoed voices of those 

‘ Thrice three sacred maids, whose minds are knit 
In harmony; whose only thought is song.’ 

There is a deep and hidden reason why the heart 
loves to invest every hill, and stream, and tree, with a 
mysterious principle of life. All earthly forms are but 
the clothing of some divine ideal; and this truth we 
feel , though we know it not. But when I spoke of 
Arcus and the Wood Nymph, I was thinking that Par- 
alus had been the tree, on whose existence my own 
depended ; and that now he was removed, I should not 
long remain.” 

Eudora burst into a passionate flood of tears. “ Oh, 
flearest Philothea, do not speak thus,” she said. “ I 
shall indeed be left alone in the world. Who will 
guide me, who will protect me, who will love me, when 
you are gone?” 

19 


218 


PHILOTHEA. 


Her friend endeavored to calm these agitated feel- 
ings, by every soothing art her kindness could sug- 
gest. 

“ I would rather suffer much in silence, than to give 
you unnecessary pain,” she replied, affectionately: 
“ but I ought not to conceal from you that I am about 
to follow my beloved husband. In a short time, I shall 
not have sufficient strength to impart all I have to say. 
You will find my clothing and jewels done up in 
parcels, bearing the names of those for whom they are 
intended. My dowry returns to Chrysippus, who gave 
it; but Pericles has kindly given permission that every- 
thing else should be disposed of according to my own 
wishes. Several of my grandfather’s manuscripts, 
and a copy of Herodotus, which I transcribed while I 
was in Ionia, are my farewell gifts to him. When the 
silver tripod, which Paralus gained as a priz,e for the 
best tragedy exhibited during the Dionysia, is returned 
to his father’s house, let them be placed within it. 
The statue of Persephone, (that ominous bridal gift,) 
and the ivory lyre bestowed by Aspasia, are placed in 
his trust for the youthful Pericles; together with all 
the books and garments that belonged to his departed 
brother. In token of gratitude for the parental care of 
Clinias and his wife, I have bestowed on them the 
rich tripod received from Heliodora. In addition to 
the trifling memorials I have already sent to Melissa, 
and her artless little Zoila, you will find others pre- 
pared for you to deliver, when restored to your peace- 
ful home in Elis. To my faithful Mibra I have given 
all the garments and household goods suited to her 
condition. My grandfather’s books have been divided, 
as he requested, between Plato and Philaemon; the 
silver harp and the ivory tablet are likewise designed 


PHILOTHE A. 


219 


for them. Everything else belongs to you, dearest 
Eudora. Among many tokens of my affection, you 
will not value least the ivory cup lined with silver, 
which Philaemon gave me when he departed from 
Athens. The clasp, representing the Naiades binding 
Eros in garlands, will, I trust, be worn at your mar- 
riage with Philaemon.” 

With tearful eyes, Eudora answered, “Oh, Philo- 
thea! in the days of my pride and gayety, I little knew 
what a treasure I threw from me, when I lost Philae- 
mon’s love. Had it not been for my own perverse 
folly, I should at this moment be his happy, honored 
wife. The hope of his forgiveness is now the only 
gleam of sunshine in a world of gloom; but I hardly 
dare to cherish it.” 

Philothea kissed her affectionately, and said, “Be- 
lieve me, you will yet be united. Of this, there is an 
impression on my mind too strong to admit of doubt. 
If at times you are tempted to despond, remember 
these words were uttered by your friend, when she 
drew near the confines of another world: you will be 
united to Philaemon.” 

As she spoke, Mibra, who was occupied in the next 
apartment, sneezed aloud. The sound was at Eudo- 
ra’s right hand, and she received the auspicious omen 
with a sudden thrill of joy. 

Philothea observed her emotion with a gentle smile, 
and added: “ When we were at Elis, I wrote an 
epistle to Philaemon, in which I spoke of you as my 
heart dictated; and Artaphernes found opportunity to 
send it directly into Persia.” 

The maiden blushed deeply and painfully, as she re- 
plied “Nay, my dearest friend — you know that I 
must appear contemptible in his eyes; and I would 


philothea. 


220 

not have insulted him with the offer of a heart which 
he has reason to believe is so capricious and un- 
grateful.” . 

“ Trust me, I said nothing whereby , your modesty 
might be wounded,” answered Philothea: “I wrote as 
1 was moved; and I felt strong assurance that my 
words would w r aken a response in Philaemon’s heart. 
But there is one subject, on which my mind, is filled 
with foreboding. I hope you will leave Athens as 
soon as it is safe to return to Elis.” 

“ Do you then fear that I would again dance over a 
pit, because it was artfully covered with garlands?” 
said Eudora. “Believe me, I have been tried with 
too many sorrows, and too long been bowed under a 
load of shame, to be again endangered by such treach- 
erous snares.” 

Philothea looked upon her affectionately, as she re- 
plied: “You are good and pure; but you have ever 
been like a loving and graceful vine, ready to cling to 
its nearest support.” 

“ ’Tis you have made me so,” rejoined Eudora, 
kissing her pale cheek: “ To you I have always ap- 
plied for advice and instruction; and when you gave 
it, I felt confident and happy, as if led by the gods.” 

“ Then so much the more need that I should caution 
the weakness I have produced,” responded Philo- 
thea. “ Should Aspasia gain access to you, when I 
am gone, she will try to convince you that happiness 
consists not in the duties we perform, but in the dis- 
tinction we acquire ; that my hopes of Elysium are all 
founded on fable; that my beloved Paralus has re- 
turned to the elements of which he was composed; 
that he nourishes the plants, and forms some of the 
innumerable particles of the atmosphere. I have seen 


PHILOTHEA. 


22 i 

him in my dreams, as distinctly, as I ever saw him; 
and I believe the same power that enabled me to see 
him when these poor eyes were veiled in slumber, 
will restore him to my vision when they are closed in 
eternal sleep. Aspasia will tell you I have been a 
beautiful but idle dreamer all my life. If you listen 
to her syren tongue, the secret, guiding voice will be 
heard no more. She will make evil appear good, and 
good evil, until your soul will walk in perpetual twilight, 
unable to perceive the real size and character of any 
object.” 

“ Never,” exclaimed Eudora. “Never could she 
induce me to believe you an idle dreamer. Moreover, 
she will never again have opportunity to exert influ- 
ence over me. The conversation I heard between her 
and Alcibiades is too well impressed upon my memory; 
and while that remains unforgotten, I shall shun them 
both, as I would shun a pestilence.” 

Philothea answered: “I do indeed believe that no 
blandishments will now make you a willing victim. 
But I have a secret dread of the character and power 
of Alcibiades. It is his boast that he never relin- 
quishes a pursuit. I have often heard Pericles speak 
of his childish obstinacy and perseverance. He was 
one day playing at dice with other boys, when a loaded 
wagon came near. In a commanding tone, he ordered 
the driver to stop; and finding his injunctions disre- 
garded, he laid down before the horses’ feet, and told 
him to go on if he dared. The same character remains 
with him now. He will incur any hazard for the tri- 
umph of his own will. From his youth, he has been a 
popular idol; a circumstance which has doubtless in- 
creased the requirements of his passions, without di- 
19 * 


222 


PHILOTHEA, 


minishing the stubbornness of his temper. Mibra tells 
me he has already inquired of her concerning your 
present residence and future intentions. Obstacles will 
only increase his eagerness and multiply his artifices. 

I have asked Clinias, whose dwelling is so closely 
connected with our own, to supply the place of your 
distant guardian, while you remain in Athens. In 
Pericles you might likewise trust, if he were not so 
fatally under the influence of Aspasia. Men think so 
lightly of these matters, I sometimes fear they might 
both regard the persecutions of Alcibiades too trivial 
for their interference. For these reasons I wish you 
to return to Elis as soon as possible when I am 
gone.” 

Eudora’s countenance kindled with indignation, as 
she listened to what Mibra had told. In broken and 
contrite tones, she answered; “ Philothea, whatever 
trials I may suffer, my former folly deserves them all. 
But rest assured, whenever it pleases the gods to re- 
move your counsel and protection, I will not abide in 
Athens a single hour after it is possible to leave with 
safety.” 

“ I find consolation in that assurance,” replied Phi- 
lothea; “ and I have strong belief that a divine shield 
will guard you from impending evil. And now I will 
go to my couch; for I am weary, and would fain be 
lulled with music.” 

Eudora tenderly arranged the pillows, and played a 
succession of sweet and plaintive tunes, familiar to 
their childhood. Her friend listened with an expres- 
sion of tranquil pleasure, slowly keeping time by the 
motion of her fingers, until she sunk into a peaceful 
sleep. 


PHILOTHEA. 


223 


After long and sweet repose, she awoke suddenly, 
and looking up with a beaming glance, exclaimed, “ I 
shall follow him soon! ” 

Eudora leaned over the couch, to inquire why she 
had spoken in such delighted accents. 

Philothea answered: “ I dreamed that I sat upon a 
bank of violets, with Paralus by my side; and he wove 
a garland and placed it on my head. Suddenly, golden 
sounds seemed floating in the air, melting into each 
other with liquid melody. It was such a scene as 
Paralus often described, when his soul lived apart from 
the body, and only returned at intervals, to bring 
strange tidings of its wanderings. I turned to tell him 
so; and I saw that we were both clothed in garments 
that shone like woven sunbeams. Then voices above 
us began to sing: 

Come hither, kindred spirits* come! 

Hail to the mystic two in one ! 

Even after I awoke, I seemed to hear the chorus 
distinctly. It sounded like the voice of Paralus in his 
youth, when we used to sing together, to please my 
grandfather, as he sat by the side of that little sheltered 
brook, over whose bright waters the trees embrace each 
other in silent love. Dearest Eudora, I shall soon fol- 
low him.” 

The maiden turned away to conceal her tears; for 
resignation to this bereavement seemed too hard a 
lesson for her suffering heart. 

For several weeks, there was no apparent change in 
Philothea’s health or spirits. The same sad serenity 
remained — perpetually exciting the compassion it 
never seemed to ask. Each day the children of the 


224 


PHILOTHEA. 


neighborhood brought their simple offering of flowers, 
with which she wove fresh garlands for the tomb of 
Paralus. When no longer able to visit the sepulchre 
herself, she intrusted them to the youthful Pericles, 
who reverently placed them on his brother’s urn. 

The elder Pericles seemed to find peculiar solace in 
the conversation of his widowed daughter. Scarcely 
a day passed without an interview between them, and 
renewed indications of his affectionate solicitude. 

He came one day, attended by his son, on whom his 
desolated heart now bestowed a double portion of 
paternal love. They remained a long time, in earnest 
discourse; and when they departed, the boy was in 
tears. 

Philothea, with feeble steps, followed them to the 
portico, and gazed after them, as long as she could see 
a fold of their garments. As she turned to lean on 
Eudora’s arm, she said, “ It is the last time I shall 
ever see them. It is the last. I have felt a sister’s 
love for that dear boy. His heart is young and in- 
nocent.” 

For a few hours after, she continued to talk with 
unusual animation, and her eyes beamed with an ex- 
pression of inspired earnestness. At her request, Geta 
and Mibra were called; and the faithful servants lis- 
tened with mournful gratitude to her parting words of 
advice and consolation. 

At evening twilight, Eudora gave her a bunch of 
flowers, sent by the youthful Pericles. She took them 
with a smile, and said, “ How fragrant is their breath, 
and how beautiful their colors! I have heard that the 
Persians write their music in colors ; and Paralus spoke 
the same concerning music in the spirit-world. Per- 


PHILOTHEA. 


225 


chance there was heavenly melody written on this fair 
earth in the age of innocence; but mortals have now 
forgotten its language.” Perceiving Eudora’s thought- 
ful countenance, she said: “ Is my gentle friend dis- 
turbed, lest infant nymphs closed their brief existence 
when these stems were broken? ” 

“Nay;” replied Eudora: “ My heart is sad; but not 
for the perished genii of the flowers.” 

Philothea understood the import of her words; and 
pressing her hand affectionately, said, “Your love has 
been as balm to my lonely heart; and let that remem- 
brance comfort you, when I go hence. Listen in still- 
ness to the whispered warnings of your attendant 
spirit, and he will never leave you. I am weary; and 
would fain repose on your affectionate bosom.” 

Eudora gently placed her head as she desired; and 
carefully supporting the precious burden, she began to 
sing, in low and soothing tones. 

After some time, the quiet and regular respiration of 
the breath announced that the invalid had fallen into 
tranquil slumber. Mibra came, to ask if the lamps were 
wanted; but receiving a silent signal from Eudora, she 
crept noiselessly away. 

For more than an hour, there was perfect stillness, 
as the shades of evening deepened. All at once, the 
room was filled with soft, clear light! Eudora turned 
her head quickly, to discover whence it came; but 
could perceive no apparent cause for the sudden 
radiance. 

With an undefined feeling of awe, she looked in the 
countenance of her friend. It was motionless as mar- 
ble; but never had she seen anything so beautiful, and 
so unearthly. J 


PHILOTHEA. 


226 

As she gazed, doubting whether this could indeed 
be death, there was a sound of music in the air — dis- 
tinct, yet blended, like the warbling of birds in the 
spring-time. 

It was the tune Paralus had learned from celestial 
harps; and even after the last note floated away, Eudo- 
ra seemed to hear the well-remembered words: 

V 

Come hither, kindred spirits, come ! 

Hail to the mystic two in one ! 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


Take courage ! no vain dream hast thou beheld, 

But in thy sleep a truth. 

IIomek. 

At the time of Philothea’s death, Pandaenus, the 
nephew of Phidias, was in Athens, intending soon to 
return to Elis, in company with an ambassador bound 
to Lacedaemon ; and Eudora resolved to avail herself 
of this opportunity to follow the farewell advice of her 
friend. As the time for departure was near at hand, 
no change was made in household arrangements; and 
though the desolate maiden at times experienced sen- 
sations of extreme loneliness, the near vicinity of Clinias 
and Phoenarete left her no fears concerning adequate 
protection. 

This confidence seemed well grounded; yet not 
many days after the funeral solemnities, Eudora sud- 
denly disappeared. She had gone out, as usual, to 
gather flowers for the tomb of the beloved sleeper; and 
not finding sufficient variety in the garden, had wan- 
dered into a small field adjoining. Mibra was the first 
to observe that her absence was unusually protracted. 
She mentioned her anxiety to Geta, who immediately 
went out in search of his young mistress; but soon 
returned, saying she was neither in the house of Clinias, 
nor in the neighboring fields, nor at the Fountain of 
Callirhoe. 

The faithful attendants at once suspected treachery 


228 


PHILOTHEA. 


in Alcibiades. “I never rightly understood what was 
the difficulty, when Eudora was locked up in her 
chamber, and Lucos chained to the door,” said Geta; 
“ but from what I could hear, I know that Phidias was 
very angry with Alcibiades. Many a time I’ve heard 
him say that he would always have his own way, either 
by a straight course or a crooked one.” 

“And my good old master used to say he had 
changed but little since he was a boy, when he made 
the wagoner turn back, by lying down in front of his 
horses,” rejoined Mibra: “I thought of that, when 
Alcibiades came and drank at the Fountain, while I 
was filling my urn. You remember I told you that he 
just tasted of the water, for a pretence, and then began 
to inquire where Eudora was, and whether she would 
remain in Athens.” 

After some further consultation, it was deemed best 
for Mibra to request a private interview with Phcena- 
rete, during which she freely expressed her fears. 
The wife of Clinias, though connected by marriage 
with the house of Alcibiades, was far from resenting 
the imputation, or pretending that she considered it 
groundless. Her feelings were at once excited for the 
lonely orphan girl, whose beauty, vivacity, and gentle- 
ness, had won upon her heart; and she readily prom- 
ised assistance in any plan for her relief, provided it 
met the approbation of her husband. 

There was in Salamis a large mansion built by Eu- 
rysaces, the ancestor of Alcibiades, by whom it had 
been lately purchased, and repaired for a summer 
residence. Report said that many a fair maiden had 
been decoyed within its walls, and retained a prisoner. 
This place was guarded by several powerful dogs, and 
vigilant servants were always stationed at the gates. 


!*B1 LOtHEA. 


229 


Mibra proposed to disguise herself as much as possible, 
and, with a basket on her head, go thither to offer fish 
for sale. Geta, being afraid to accompany her, hired 
an honest boatman to convey her to the island, and wait 
till she was ready to return to Athens. 

As she approached the walls of the mansion, the 
■dogs began to growl, but were soon silenced by the 
porters. Without answering the indecent jibes, with 
which they greeted her ears as she passed along, the 
little fish-woman balanced her basket on her head, and 
began carelessly to sing some snatches of a hymn to 
Amphitrite. It was a tune of which Eudora was par- 
ticularly fond; and often when Mibra was humming it 
over her work, her soft and sonorous voice had been 
heard responding from the inner apartment. 

She had scarcely finished the first verse, ere the 
chorus was repeated by some one within the dwelling; 
and she recognized the half-suppressed growl of Hy- 
lax, as if his barking had been checked by some cau- 
tious hand. Afraid to attract attention by a prolonged 
stay, Mibra passed along and entered the servants’ 
apartment. Having sold a portion of her fish, and 
lingered as long as she dared in conversation with the 
cooks, she returned slowly in the same direction, sing- 
ing as she went, and carefully observing everything 
around her. She was just beginning to fear the im- 
possibility of obtaining any solution of her doubts, when 
she saw a leaf fluttering near the ground, as if its mo- 
tions were impelled by some other cause than the wind. 
Approaching nearer, she perceived that it was let down 
from a grated opening in the wall above, by a small 
thread, with a little ball of wax attached to it for a 
weight. She examined the leaf, and discovered certain 
letters pricked upon it ; and when the string was pulled 
20 


230 


PHILOTHEA. 


gently, it immediately dropped upon her arm. At the 
same time, a voice, which she distinctly recognized as 
Eudora’s, was heard singing: 

On a rock, amid the roaring water. 

Lies Cassiopea’s gentle daughter. 

Mibra had just begun to sing, “Bold Perseus 
comes,” when she perceived a servant crossing the 
Court, and deemed it prudent to retire in silence. She 
carefully preserved the leaf, and immediately after her 
return hastened to the apartment of Phcenarete, to 
obtain an explanation. That matron, like most Gre- 
cian women, was ignorant of her own written language. 
The leaf was accordingly placed in a vessel of water, 
to preserve its freshness until Clinias returned from 
the Prytaneum. He easily distinguished the name of 
Pandsenus joined with his own; and having heard the 
particulars of the story, had no difficulty in understand- 
ing that Mibra was directed to apply to them for as- 
sistance. He readily promised to intercede with his 
profligate kinsman, and immediately sent messengers in 
search of Pandsenus. 

Geta awaited intelligence with extreme impatience. 
He was grateful for many an act of kindness from 
Eudora; and he could not forget that she had been 
the cherished favorite of his beloved and generous 
master. 

At night., Clinias returned from a conference with 
Alcibiades, in which the latter denied all knowledge of 
Eudora; and it seemed hazardous to institute legal 
inquiries into the conduct of a man so powerful and so 
popular, without further evidence than had yet been 
obtained. Pandsenus could not be found. At the house 
where he usually resided, no information could be ob- 


PHILOTHEA. 


231 


tained, except that he went out the preceding evening, 
and had not returned as usual. 

During that night, and part of the following day, the 
two faithful attendants remained in a state of melan- 
choly indecision. At last, Geta said, “ I will go once 
more in search of Pandcenus; and if he has not yet 
returned, I have resolved what to do. To-day I 
saw one of the slaves of Artaphernes buying olives; 
and he said he must have the very best, because his 
master was to give a feast to-night. Among other 
guests, he spoke of Alc^biades; and he is one that is 
always sure to stay late at his wine. While he is 
feasting, I will go to Salamis. His steward often 
bought anchovies of me at Phalerum. He is a country- 
man of mine; and I know he is as avaricious as an 
Odomantian. I think money will bribe him to carry a 
message to Eudora, and to place a ladder near the 
outer wall for her escape. He. is intrusted with all the 
keys, and can do it if he will. And if he can get gold 
enough by it, I believe he will trust Hermes to help 
him settle with his master, as he has done many a 
time before this. I will be in readiness at the Triton’s 
Cove, and bring her back to Athens as fast as oars can 
fly.” 

“ Do so, dear Geta,” replied Mibra; “ but disguise 
yourself from the other servants, and take with you 
the robe and veil that I wear to market. Then if 
Eudora could only walk a little more like a fish-woman, 
she might pass very well. But be sure you do not pay 
the steward till you have her at the boat’s edge; for 
he, that will play false games with his master, may do 
the same by you.” 

Necessary arrangements were speedily made. Geta 
resolved to offer the earnings of his whole life as a 


232 


PHILO THEi, 


bribe, rather than intrust the secret of his bold expedi- 
tion to any of the household of Clinias; and Mibra* 
fearful that their own store would not prove a sufficient 
temptation, brought forth a sum of money found in 
Eudora’s apartment, together with a valuable necklace, 
which had been a birth-day present from Phidias. 

It was past midnight when three figures emerged 
from the shadow of the high wall surrounding the man- 
sion of Alcibiades, and with cautious haste proceeded 
toward the cove. Before they could arrive at the 
beach, a large and gaily-trimmed boat was seen ap- 
proaching the shore from the direction of the Piraeus,. 
It was flaming with torches; and a band of musicians; 
poured out upon the undulating waters a rich flood of 
melody, rendered more distinct and soft by the liquid 
element over which it floated. One of the fugitives 
immediately turned, and disappeared within the walls 
they had left; the other two concealed themselves in a. 
thick grove, the darkness of which was deepened by 
the glare of torches along its borders. A man richly 
dressed, with several fillets on his head, and crowned 
with a garland of violets, ivy, and myrtle, stepped from 
the boat, supported by the arm of a slave. His coun- 
tenance was flushed with wine, and as he reeled along*, 
he sung aloud: 

“ Have I told you all my flames, 

’Mong the amorous Syrian dames ? 

Have I numbered every one 
Glowing under Egypt’s sun ? 

Or the nymphs, who, blushing sweet. 

Deck the shrine of Love in Crete — 

Where the god, with festal play,. 

Holds eternal holiday ? ” 

“ Castor and Polydeuces! ” whispered Geta, “ there 


PHlLOTHEA. 


2$3 

goes Alcibiades. He has returned from his wine 
earlier than usual ; but so blinded by the merry god, 
that he would not have known us, if we had faced the 
glare of his torches.” 

“ Oh, hasten! hasten!” said Eudora, weeping and 
trembling, as she spoke. “I beseech you do not let a 
moment be lost.” 

As Alcibiades and his train disappeared, they left 
the grove, and hurried toward their boat; keeping as 
much as possible within the shadow of the trees. They 
reached the cove in safety, and Geta rowed with un- 
wonted energy; but he was single-handed, and Salamis 
was many stadia from Athens. Long before he arrived 
at the place where he had been accustomed to land, 
they discerned the sound of distant oars plied with 
furious rapidity. 

They landed, and with the utmost haste proceeded 
toward the city. Eudora, fearful of being overtaken, 
implored Geta to seek refuge behind the pillars of 
Poseidon’s temple. Carefully concealing themselves 
in the dense shadow, they remained without speaking, 
and almost without breathing, until their pursuers had 
passed by. The moment these were out of hearing, 
they quitted their hiding-place, and walked swiftly 
along the Pirceus. Intense fear imparted a degree of 
strength, which the maiden, under other circumstances, 
would have hardly deemed it possible to exert. She 
did not for a moment relax her speed, until they came 
within sight of the Areopagus, and heard noisy shouts, 
apparently not far distant. Eudora, sinking with 
fatigue and terror, entreated Geta not to attempt any 
approach to the house of Clinias, where her enemies 
would certainly be lying in wait for them. With un- 
certain steps they proceeded toward the great Gate of 
20 * 


234 


P H r L O T H A 


the Acropolis, until the helpless maiden, frightened at 
the approaching noise, stopped suddenly, and burst into 
a flood of tears. 

“ There is one place of safety, if you have courage 
to try it,” said Geta: “We are nearly under the 
Propylaea; and close beside us is the grotto of Cretisa. 
Few dare to enter it in the day-time, and no profane 
steps will venture to pass the threshold after night- 
fall ; for it is said the gods often visit it, and fill it with 
strange sights and sounds. Shall we enter? ” 

It was a windy night, and the clouds that occasion- 
ally passed over the face of the moon gave the earth a 
dreary aspect. The high wall under which they stood 
seemed to frown gloomily upon them, and the long 
flight of white marble steps, leading from the Propylaeay 
looked cold and cheerless beneath the fitful gleamings 
of the moon. 

Eudora hesitated, and looked timidly around; but as 
the sound of riotous voices came nearer, she seized 
Geta’s arm, and exclaimed, in hurried accents, “The 
gods protect me! Let us enter.” 

Within the grotto, all was total darkness. Having 
groped their way a short distance from the entrance, 
they found a large rock, on which they seated them- 
selves. The voices approached nearer and their discor- 
dant revelry had an awful sound amid the echos of the 
grotto. These gradually died away in the distance, 
and were heard no more. 

When all was perfectly still, Eudora, in whispered 
accents, informed Geta that she had been seized, as 
she stooped to gather flowers within sight of her own 
dwelling. Two men suddenly started up from behind a 
wall, and one covered her mouth, while the other bound 
her hands. They made a signal to a third, who came 


tf H I L O T ffE A . 




with two attendants and a curtained chariot, in which 
she was immediately conveyed to a solitary place on the 
seashore and thence to Salamis. Two men sat beside 
her, and held her fast, so as to prevent any possibility 
of communication with the few people passing at that 
early hour. 

Arrived at the place of destination, she was shut up 
in a large apartment luxuriously furnished. Alcibr- 
ades soon visited her, with an affectation of the most 
scrupulous respect, urging the plea of ardent love as 
an excuse for his proceedings. 

Aware that she was completely in his power, she 
concealed her indignation and contempt, and allowed 
him to indulge the hope that her affections might be 
obtained, if she were entirely convinced of his wish to 
atone for the treachery and violence with which she 
had been treated. 

Mibra’s voice had been recognized the moment she 
began to sing; and she at once conjectured the object 
that led her thither. But when hour after hour passed 
without any tidings from Pandaenus or Clinias, she 
was in a state of anxiety bordering on distraction; for 
she soon perceived sufficient indication that the smooth 
hypocrisy of Alcibiades was assumed but for a short 
period. 

She had already determined on an effort to bribe 
the servants, when the steward came stealthily to her 
room, and offered to convey her to the Triton’s Cove, 
provided she would promise to double the sum already 
offered by Geta. To this she eagerly assented, with- 
out even inquiring the amount; and he, fearful of 
detection, scarcely allowed time to throw Mibra’s robe 
and veil over her own. 

Having thus far effected her escape, Eudora was 


236 


FHILOTHEA. 


extremely anxious that Pandsenus and Clinias should 
be informed of her place of retreat, as soon as the 
morning dawned. When Geta told her that Pandte- 
nus had disappeared as suddenly as herself, and no 
one knew whither, she replied, “This, too, is the 
work of Alcibiades.” 

Their whispered conversation was stopped by the 
barking of a dog, to which the echos of the cavern 
gave a frightful appearance of nearness. Each in- 
stinctively touched the other’s arm, as a signal for 
silence. When all was again quiet, Geta whispered, 
“ It is well for us they were not witty enough to 
bring Hylax with them; for the poor fellow would 
certainly have betrayed us.” This circumstance 
warned them of t hedanger of listeners, and few more 
words were spoken. 

The maiden, completely exhausted by the exertions 
she had made, laid her head on the shoulder of her 
attendant, and slept until the morning twilight became 
perceptible through the crevices of the rocks. 

At the first approach of day, she implored Geta to 
hasten to the house of Clinias, and ask his protection; 
for she feared to venture herself abroad, without the 
presence of some one whose rank and influence would 
be respected by Alcibiades. 

“ Before I go,” replied Geta, “ let me find a secure 
hiding-place for you ; for though I shall soon return, 
in the meantime those may enter whose presence may 
be dangerous.” 

You forget that this is a sacred place,” rejoined 
Eudora, in tones that betrayed fear struggling with 
her confidence. 

“There are men, with whom nothing is sacred,” 
answered Geta; “ and many such are now in Athens.” 


P HI L <TTH E A . 


23'7 


The cavern was deep, and wide. As they passed 
along, the dawning light indistinctly revealed statues 
of Phoebus and Pan, with altars of pure white marble. 
At the farthest extremity, stood a trophy of shields, 
helmets, and spears, placed there by Miltiades, in 
commemoration of his victory at Marathon. It was so 
formed as to be hollow in the centre, and Geta pro- 
posed that the timid maiden should creep in at the side 
and stand upright. She did so, and it proved an effec- 
tual screen from head to foot. 

Having taken this prudent precaution, the faithful 
attendant departed, with a promise to return as soon as 
possible. But hour after hour elapsed, and he came 
not. As Eudora peeped through the chinks of the 
trophy, she perceived from the entrance of the cave 
glowing streaks of light, that indicated approaching 
noon. Yet all remained still, save the echoed din of 
noises in the city ; and no one came to her relief 

Not long after the sun had begun to decline from its 
meridian, two men entered, whom she recognized as 
among the individuals that had seized and conveyed 
her to Salamis. As they looked carefully all around 
the cave, Eudora held her breath, and her heart 
throbbed violently. Perceiving no one, they knelt for 
a moment before the altars, and hastily retreated, with 
indications of fear; for the accusations of guilty minds 
were added to the usual terrors of this subterranean 
abode of the gods. 

The day was fading into twilight, when a feeble old 
man came, with a garland on his head, and invoked 
the blessing of Phoebus. He was accompanied by a 
boy, who laid his offering of flowers and fruit on the 
altar of Pan, with an expression of countenance that 
showed how much he was alarmed by the presence of 
that fear-inspiring deity- 


238 


PHILOTHEA. 


After they had withdrawn, no other footsteps ap- 
proached the sacred place. Anxiety of mind and 
bodily weariness more than once tempted Eudora to 
go out and mingle with the throng continually passing 
through the city. But the idea that Geta might arrive, 
and be perplexed by her absence, combined with the 
fear of lurking spies, kept her motionless, until the ob- 
scurity of the grotto gave indication that the shadows 
of twilight were deepening. 

During the day, she had observed near the trophy a 
heap of withered laurel branches and wreaths, with 
which the altar and statue of Phoebus had been at va- 
rious times adorned. Overcome with fatigue, and 
desirous to change a position, which from its unifor- 
mity had become extremely painful, she resolved to lie 
down upon the rugged rock, with the sacred garlands 
for a pillow. She shuddered to remember the lizards 
and other reptiles she had seen crawling, through the 
day; but the universal fear of entering Cre lisa’s grotto 
after night-fall promised safety from human intrusion; 
and the desolate maiden laid herself down to repose in 
such a state of mind that she would have welcomed a 
poisonous reptile, if it brought the slumbers of death. 
It seemed to her that she was utterly solitary and 
friendless; persecuted by men, and forsaken by the 
gods. 

By degrees, all sounds died away, save the melan- 
choly hooting of owls, mingled occasionally with the 
distant barking and howling of dogs. Alone, in still- 
ness and total darkness, memory revealed herself with 
wonderful power. The scenes of her childhood; the 
chamber in which she had slept; figures she had em- 
broidered and forgotten; tunes that had been silent for 
years; thoughts and feelings long buried; Philaemon’s 


PHILOTHEA. 


239 


smile; the serene countenance of Philothea; the 
death-bed of Phidias; and a thousand other images of 
the past, came before her with all the vividness of 
present reality. Exhausted in mind and body, she 
could not long endure this tide of recollection. Cov- 
ering her face with her hands, she sobbed convulsively, 
as she murmured, “ Oh, Philothea! why didst thou 
leave me? My guide, my only friend! Oh, where art 
thou! » 

A gentle strain of music, scarcely audible, seemed 
to make reply. Eudora raised her head to listen — 
and lo! the whole grotto was filled with light; so bril- 
liant that every feather in the arrow of Phoebus might 
be counted, and the gilded horns and star of Pan were 
radiant as the sun. 

Her first thought was that she had slept until noon. 
She rubbed her eyes, and glanced at the pedestal of a 
statue, on which she distinctly read the inscription: 
“ Here Miltiades placed me, Pan, the goat-footed god 
of Arcadia, who warred with the Athenians against the 
Medes.” 

Frightened at the possibility of having overslept her- 
self, she started up, and was about to seek the shelter 
of the trophy, when Paralus and Philothea stood before 
her! They were clothed in bright garments, with gar- 
lands on their heads. His arm was about her waist, 
and hers rested on his shoulder. There was a holy 
beauty in their smile, from which a protecting influ- 
ence seemed to emanate that banished mortal fear. 

In sweet, low tones, they both said, as if with one 
voice: “ Seek Artaphernes, the Persian.” 

“ Dearest Philothea, I scarcely know his counte- 
nance,” replied the maiden. 

Again the bright vision repeated, “ Seek Artapher- 
nes, nothing doubting.” 


240 


PHILOTHEA-. 


The sounds ceased; the light began to fade} it 
grew more and more dim, till all was total darkness. 

For a long time, Eudora remained intensely wakeful, 
but inspired with a new feeling of confidence and 
hope, that rendered her oblivious of all earthly cares. 
Whence it came she neither knew nor asked; for such 
states preclude all inquiry concerning their own nature 
and origin. 

After awhile, she fell into a tranquil slumber, in 
which she dreamed of torrents crossed in safety, and 
of rugged, thorny paths, that ended in blooming gar- 
dens. She was awakened by the sound of a troubled, 
timid voice, saying, “ Eudora! Eudora!” 

She listened a moment, and answered, “ Is it you, 
Mibra? ” 

“Oh, blessed be the sound of your voice,” replied 
the peasant. “Where are you? Let me take your 
hand;* for I am afraid, in this awful place.” 

“ Don’t be frightened, my good Mibra. I have had 
joyful visions here,” rejoined the maiden. She reached 
out her arms as she spoke, and perceived that her 
companion trembled exceedingly. “ May the gods 
protect us!” whispered she; “ but it is a fearful thing 
to come here in the night-time. All the gold of Croe- 
sus would not have tempted me, if Geta had not 
charged me to do it, to save you from starving.” 

“ You are indeed kind friends,” said Eudora; “ and 
the only ones I have left in this world. If ever I get 
safely back to Elis, you shall be to me as brother and 
sister.” 

“Ah, dear lady,” replied the peasant, “you have 
ever been a good friend to us; — and there is one that 
sleeps, who never spoke an ungentle word to any of 
us. When her strength was almost gone, she bade 


* H ILt) T'HEK 


24* 


ime love Eudora, even as I la ad loved her; and the 
gods know that for her sake Mibra would have died. 
Phoebus protect me! but this is an awful place to speak 
of those who sleep. It must be near the dawn; but 
it is fearfully dark here. Where is your hand? I 
have brought some bread and figs, and this little ara- 
byllus of water mixed with Lesbian wine. Eat; for 
you must be almost famished.” 

Eudora took the refreshment, but ere she tasted it, 
inquired, “ Why did not Geta come, as he promised?” 

Mibra began to weep. 

“ Has evil befallen him?” said Eudora, in tones of 
cal arm. 

The afflicted wife sobbed out, Poor Geta! Poor, 
dear Geta! I dreaded to come into this cavern; but 
then I thought if I died, it would be well if we could 
but die together.” 

“Do tell me what has happened,” said Eudora: 
*** Am I doomed to bring trouble upon all who love me? 
Tell me, I entreat you.” 

Mibra, weeping as she spoke, then proceeded to say 
that Alcibiades had discovered Eudora’s escape im- 
mediately after his return from the feast of Arta- 
phernes. He was in a perfect storm of passion, and 
-threatened every one of the servants with severe punish- 
ment, to extort confession. The steward received a few 
keen lashes, notwithstanding his protestations of inno- 
-cence. But he threatened to appeal to the magistrates 
for another master; and Alcibiades, unwilling to lose 
the services of this bold and artful slave, restrained 
his anger, even when it was at its greatest height. 

To appease his master’s displeasure, the treacherous 
fellow aknowledged that Geta had been seen near the 
ai 


242 


PHILOTHEA. 


walls, and that his boat had been lying at the Triton’s 
Cove. 

In consequence of this information, men were in- 
stantly ordered in pursuit, with orders to lie in wait for 
the fugitives, if they could not be overtaken before 
morning. When Geta left Creusa’s Grotto, he was 
seized before he reached the house of Clinias. 

Mibra knew nothing of these proceedings, but had 
remained anxiously waiting till the day was half spent. 
Then she learned that Alcibiades had claimed Eudora 
and Geta as his slaves, by virtue of a debt due to him 
from Phidias for a large quantity of ivory; and not- 
withstanding the efforts of Clinias in their favor, the 
Court of Forty Four, in the borough of Alcibiades, de- 
cided that he had a right to retain them, until the debt 
was paid, or until the heir appeared to show cause why 
it should not be paid. 

“ The gods have blessed Clinias with abundant 
wealth,” said Eudora; “Did he offer nothing to save 
the innoceijt? ” 

“Dear lady,” replied Mibra, “Alcibiades demands 
«uch an immense sum for the ivory, that he says he 
might as well undertake to build the wall of Hippar- 
chus, as to pay it. But I have not told you the most 
cruel part of the story. Geta has been tied to a ladder, 
and shockingly whipped, to make him tell where you 
were concealed. He said he would not do it if he died. 
I believe they had the will to kill him; but one of the 
young slaves, whose modesty Alcibiades had insulted, 
was resolved to make complaint to the magistrates, and 
demand another master. She helped Geta to escape; 
they have both taken refuge in the Temple of Theseus. 
Geta dared trust no one but me to carry a message to 


PHILOTHEA. 


243 


Clinias. I told him he supped with Pericles to-night; 
and he would not suffer me to go there, lest Alcibiades 
should be among the guests.” 

“I am glad he gave you that advice,” said Eudora; 
for though Pericles might be willing to serve me, for 
Philothea’s sake, I fear if he once learned the secret, 
it would soon be in Aspasia’s keeping.” 

“And that would be all the same as telling Alcibi- 
ades himself,” rejoined Mibra. “ But I must tell you 
that I did not know of poor Geta’s sufferings until 
many hours after they happened. Since he went to 
Salamis in search of you, I have not seen him until 
late this evening. He is afraid to leave the altar lest 
he should fall into the hands of his enemies; and that 
is the reason he sent me to bring you food. He ex- 
pects to be a slave again; but having been abused by 
Alcibiades, he claims the privilege of the law to be 
transferred to another master.” 

Eudora wept bitterly to think she had no power to 
rescue her faithful attendant from a condition he 
dreaded worse than death. 

Mibra endeavored, in her own artless way, to soothe 
the distress her words had excited. “In all Geta’s 
troubles, he thinks more of you than he does of him- 
self.” said she. “ He bade me convey you to the 
house of a wise woman from Thessalia, who lives near 
the Sacred Gate; for he says she can tell us what it is 
best to do. She has learned of magicians in foreign 
lands. They say she can compound potions that will 
turn hatred into love; and that the power of her en- 
chantments is so great, she can draw the moon down 
from the sky.” 

“ Nevertheless, I shall not seek her counsel,” re- 
plied the maiden; “ for I have heard a better oracle.” 


244 


FH I L O' 4 T H E A * 


When she had given an account of the vision in the* 
cave, the peasant asked, in a low and trembling voice,. 
“ Did it not make you afraid? ” 

“ Not in the least, ” answered Eudora; “ and there- 
fore I am doubtful whether it were a vision or a dream. 
I spoke to Philothea just as I used to do; without re- 
membering that she had died. She left me more com- 
posed and happy than 1 have been for many days* 
Even if it were a vision, I do not marvel that the spirit 
of one so pure and peaceful should be less terrific than- 
the ghost of Medea or Clytemnestra.” 

f< And the light shone all at once! ,r exclaimed Mi- 
bra, eagerly. “ Trust to it, dear lady — trust to it.. 
A sudden brightness hath ever been a happy omen.” 

Two baskets, filled with Copaic eels and anchovies, 
had been deposited near the mouth of the cavern; and 
with the first blush of morning, the fugitives offered 
prayers to Phoebus and Pan, and went forth with the 
baskets on their heads, as if they sought the market* 
Eudora, in her haste, would have stepped across the 
springs that bubbled from the rocks; but Mibra held 
her back, saying, “Did you never hear that these 
brooks are Creiisa r s tears? When the unhappy 
daughter of Erectheus left her infant in this cave te 
perish, she wept as she departed; and Phoebus, her im- 
mortal lover, changed her tears to rills. For this, 
reason, the water has ever been salt to the taste. It 
is a bad omen to wet the foot in these springs*” 

Thus warned, Eudora turned aside, and took a more 
circuitous path. 

It happened, fortunately, that the residence of Arta- 
phernes stood behind the temple of Asclepius, at a 
short distance from Creiisars Grotto; and they felt 
assured that no one would think of searching for them 


PHILOTHEA. 


245 


within the dwelling of the Persian stranger. They 
arrived at the gate, without question or hindrance; but 
found it fastened. To their anxious minds, the time 
they were obliged to wait seemed like an age ; but at 
last the gate was opened, and they preferred a humble 
request to see Artaphernes. Eudora, being weary of 
her load, stooped to place the basket of fish on a 
bench, and her veil accidentally dropped. The porter 
touched her under the chin, and said, with a rude laugh, 
“ Do you suppose, my pretty dolphin, that Artaphernes 
buys his own dinner? ” 

Eudora’s eyes flashed fire at this familiarity; but 
checking her natural impetuosity, she replied, “It was 
not concerning the fish that I wished to speak to your 
master. We have business of importance. ” 

The servant gave a significant glance, more insult- 
ing than his former freedom. “ Oh, yes, business of 
importance, no doubt,” said he; “ but do you suppose, 
my little Nereid, that the servant of the Great King is 
himself a vender of fish, that he should leave his couch 
at an hour so early as this? ” 

Eudora slipped a ring from her finger, and putting it 
in his hand, said, in a confidential tone, “ I am not a 
fishwoman. I am here in disguise. Go to your master, 
and conjure him, if he ever had a daughter that he 
loved, to hear the petition of an orphan, who is in great 
distress.” 

The man’s deportment immediately changed; and 
as he walked away, he muttered to himself, “She 
don’t look nor speak like one brought up at the gates; 
that’s certain.” 

Eudora and Mibra remained in the court for a long 
time, but with far less impatience than they had 
waited at the gate. At length the servant returned,. 

21 * 


¥ H I L <7TH E A , 


246 

saying his master was now ready to see them. Eudora 
followed, in extreme agitation, with her veil folded 
closely about her; and when they were ushered into 
the presence of Artaphernes, the embarrassment of her 
situation deprived her of the power of utterance. 
With much kindness of voice and manner, the venera- 
ble stranger said: “My servant told me that one of 
you was an orphan, and had somewhat to ask of me/ 5 ' 
Eudora replied: “O Persian stranger, I am indeed 
a lonely orphan, in the power of mine enemies; and 
I have been warned by a vision to come hither for as- 
sistance.” 

Something in her words, or voice, seemed to excite 
surprise, mingled with deeper feelings; and the old 
man’s countenance grew more troubled, as she con- 
tinued: “Perhaps you may recollect a maiden that 
sung at Aspasia f s house, to whom you afterwards sent 
a veil of shining texture? ” 

“Ah, yes,” he replied, with a deep sigh: “Ido 
recollect it. They told me she was Eudora, the 
daughter of Phidias.” 

“ I am Eudora, the adopted daughter of Phidias,” 
rejoined the maiden. “ My benefactor is dead, and I 
am friendless.” 

“ Who were your parents ? ” inquired the Persian, 

“ I never knew them,” she replied. “ I was stolen 
from the Ionian coast by Greek pirates. I was a mere 
infant when Phidias bought me.” 

In a voice almost suffocated with emotion, Artapher- 
nes asked, “ Were you then named Eudora? ” 

The maiden's heart began to flutter with a new and 
and strange hope, as she replied, “ No one knew my 
name. In my childish prattle, I called myself Baby 
Minta.” 


PHILOTHEA. 


247 


The old man started from his seat — his color went 
and came — and every joint trembled. He seemed to 
make a strong effort to check some sudden impulse. 
After collecting himself for a moment, he said, “ Mai- 
den, you have the voice of one I dearly loved; and it 
has stirred the deepest fountains of my heart. I pray 
you, let me see your countenance.” 

As Eudora threw off the veil, her long glossy hair 
fell profusely over her neck and shoulders, and her 
beautiful face was flushed with eager expectation. 

The venerable Persian gazed at her for an instant, 
and then clasped her to his bosom. The tears fell fast, 
as he exclaimed, “Artaminta! My daughter! My 
daughter! Image of thy blessed mother! I have 
sought for thee throughout the world, and at last I 
believed thee dead. My only child! My long-lost, 
my precious one! May the blessing of Oromasdes be 
upon thee.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


Wliate’er thou givest, generous let it be. 

Ecki PIPES. 


When it was rumored that Artaphernes had ran- 
somed Eudora and Geta, by offering the entire sum 
demanded for the ivory, many a jest circulated in the 
agoras at the expense of the old man who had given 
such an enormous price for a handsome slave; but 
when it became known, that he had, in some wonderful 
and mysterious manner, discovered a long-lost daughter, 
the tide of public feeling was changed. 

Alcibiades at once remitted his claim, which in fact 
never had any foundation injustice; he having accep- 
ted two statues in payment for the ivory, previous to 
the death of Phidias. He likewise formally asked 
Eudora in marriage; humbly apologizing for the out- 
rage he had committed, and urging the vehemence of 
his love as an extenuation of the fault. 

Artaphernes had power to dispose of his daughter 
without even making any inquiry concerning the state 
of her affections; but the circumstances of his past life 
induced him to forbear the exercise of his power. 

“ My dear child,” said he, “ it was my own misfor- 
tune to suffer by an ill-assorted marriage. In early 
youth, my parents united me with Artaynta, a Persian 
lady, whose affections had been secretly bestowed upon 
a near kinsman. Her parents knew of this fact, but 


PHI LOTHEA, 


249 


mine were ignorant of it. It ended in wretchedness 
and disgrace. To avoid the awful consequences of 
guilt, she and her lover eloped to some distant land, 
where I never attempted to follow them. 

Sometime after, the Great King was graciously 
pleased to appoint me Governor of the sea-coast in 
Asia Minor. I removed to Ephesus, where I saw and 
loved your blessed mother, the beautiful Antiope, 
daughter of Diophanes, priest of Zeus. I saw her 
accidentally at a fountain, and watched her unobserved 
while she bathed the feet of her little sister. Though 
younger than myself, she reciprocated the love she had 
inspired. Her father consented to our union; and for 
a few years I enjoyed as great happiness as Oromasdes 
ever bestows on mortals. You were our only child; 
named Artaminta, in remembrance of my mother. You 
were scarcely two years old, when you and your nurse 
suddenly disappeared. As several other women and 
children were lost at the same time, we supposed that 
you were stolen by pirates. All efforts to ascertain 
your fate proved utterly fruitless. As moon after moon 
passed away, bringing no tidings of our lost treasure, 
Antiope grew more and more hopeless. She was a 
gentle, tender-hearted being, that complained little and 
suffered much. At last, she died broken-hearted.” 

After remaining in silent thoughtfulness for a few 
moments, he added: “Of my two sons by Artaynta, 
one died in childhood; the other was killed in battle, 
before I came to Athens. I had never ceased my 
exertions to discover you; but after I became child- 
less, it was the cherished object of existence. Some 
information received from Phoenician sailors led to the 
conclusion that I owed my misfortune to Greek pirates; , 
and when the Great King informed me that he had 


250 


PtfILOTflEA. 


need of services in Athens, I cheerfully undertook the 
mission. 

Having suffered severely in my own marriage, I 
would not willingly endanger your happiness by any 
unreasonable exertion of parental authority. Alcibiades 
is handsome, rich, and of high rank. How do you re- 
gard his proposal of marriage? ” 

The color mounted high in Eudora’s cheek, and she 
answered hastily, “ As easily could I consent to be the 
wife of Tereus, after his brutal outrage on the helpless 
Philomela. I have nothing but contempt to bestow on 
the man who persecuted me when I was friendless, and 
flatters me when I have wealthy friends.” 

Artaphernes replied, “ I knew not how far you might 
consider violent love an excuse for base proceedings; 
but I rejoice to see that you have pride becoming your 
noble birth. For another reason it gives me happiness 
to find you ill-disposed toward this match; for duty 
will soon call me to Persia, and having just recovered 
you in a manner so miraculous, it would be a grevious 
sacrifice to relinquish you so soon. But am I so 
fortunate as to find you willing to return with me. 
Are there no strong ties that bind your heart to 
Athens? ” 

Perceiving that Eudora blushed deeply, he added, in 
an inquiring tone, “ Clinias told me to-day that Phidias 
wished to unite you with that gifted artist, his nephew 
Pandaenus? ” 

The maiden replied, “ I have many reasons to be 
grateful to Pandaenus; and it was painful to refuse 
compliance with the wishes of my benefactor; but if 
Phidias had commanded me to obey him in this instance, 
my happiness would have been sacrificed. Of all 
countries in the world, there is none I so much wish to 


PIIILOTHEA. 


251 


visit as Persia. Of that you may rest assured, my 
father.” 

The old man looked upon her affectionately, and his 
eyes filled with tears, as he exclaimed, “ Oromasdes 
he praised that I am once more permitted to hear that 
welcome sound! No music is so pleasant to my ears 
as that word — father. Zoroaster tells us that children 
are a bridge joining this earth to a heavenly paradise, 
filled with fresh springs and blooming gardens. Blessed 
indeed is the man who hears many gentle voices call 
him father! But, my daughter, why is it that the com- 
mands of Phidias would have made you unhappy? 
Speak frankly, Artaminta; lest hereafter there should 
be occasion to mourn that we misunderstood each 
other.” 

Eudora then told all the particulars of her attach- 
ment to Phileemon, and her brief infatuation with regard 
to Alcibiades. Artaphernes evinced no displeasure at 
the disclosure; but spoke of Philaemon with great re- 
spect and affection. He dwelt earnestly upon the 
mischievous effects of such free customs as Aspasia 
sought to introduce, and warmly eulogized the strict- 
ness and complete seclusion of Persian education. 
When Eudora expressed fears that she might never be 
able to regain Phileemon ’s love, he gazed on her beau- 
tiful countenance with fond admiration, and smiled in- 
credulously as he turned away. 

The proposal of Alcibiades was civilly declined; the 
promised surn paid to his faithless steward and the 
necklace, given by Phidias, redeemed. 

Hylax had been forcibly carried to Salamis with his 
young mistress, lest his sagacity should lead to a dis- 
covery of her prison. W^hen Eudora escaped from 
the island, she had reluctantly left him in her apart- 


252 


PHILOTHEA, 


ment, in order to avoid the danger that might arise 
from any untimely noise; but as soon as her own 
safety was secured, her first thoughts were for the 
recovery of this favorite animal, the early gift of Philae- 
mon. The little captive had pined and moaned con- 
tinually, during their brief separation; and when he 
returned, it seemed as if his boisterous joy could not 
sufficiently manifest itself in gambols and caresses. 

When Artaphernes was convinced that he had really 
found his long-lost child, the impulse of gratitude led 
to very early inquiries for Pandaenus. The artist had 
not yet re-appeared; and all Athens was filled with 
conjectures concerning his fate. Eudora still suspec- 
ted that Alcibiades had secreted him, for the same 
reason that he had claimed Geta as a slave; for it 
was sufficiently obvious that he had desired, as far 
as possible, to deprive her of all assistance and pro- 
tection. 

The event proved her suspicions well founded. On 
the fourth day after her escape from Salamis, Pandaenus 
came to congratulate Artaphernes, and half in anger, 
half in laughter, told the particulars of his story. He 
had been seized as he returned home at night, and had 
been forcibly conveyed to the mansion of Eurysaces, 
where he was kept a close prisoner, with the promise 
of being released whenever he finished a picture, which 
Alcibiades had long desired to obtain. This was a 
representation of Europa, just entering the ocean on 
the back of the beautiful bull, which she and her un- 
suspecting companions had crowned with garlands. 

At first, the artist resisted, and swore by Phoebus 
Apollo that he would not be thus forced into the service 
of any man; but an unexpected circumstance changed 
his resolution. 


'PH1L0THEA. 


253 


There was a long, airy gallery, in which he was 
allowed to take exercise any hour of the day. In some 
places, an open-work partition, richly and curiously 
wrought by the skillful hand of Callicrates, separated 
this gallery from the outer balustrade of the building. 
During his walks, Pandaenus often heard sounds of 
violent grief from the other side of the screen. Curi- 
osity induced him to listen and inquire the cause. A 
sad, sweet voice answered, “ I am Cleonica, daughter 
of a noble Spartan. Taken captive in war, and sold to 
Alcibiades, I weep for my dishonored lot; for much I 
fear it will bring the grey hairs of my mother to an un- 
timely grave,” 

This interview led to another, and another; and 
though the mode of communication was imperfect, the 
artist was enabled to perceive that the captive maiden 
was a tall, queenly figure, with a rich profusion of 
sunny hair, indicating a fair and fresh complexion. 
The result was a promise to paint the desired picture, 
provided he might have the Spartan slave as a recom- 
pense, 

Alcibiades, equally solicitous to obtain the painting, 
and to prolong the seclusion of Pandaenus, and being 
then eager in another pursuit, readily consented to the 
terms proposed. After Eudora’s sudden change of 
fortune, being somewhat ashamed of the publicity of 
his conduct, and desirous not to lose entirely the good 
opinion of Artaphernes, he gave the artist his liberty, 
simply requiring the fulfilment of his promise. 

“And what are your intentions with regard to this 
fair captive? ” inquired the Persian, with a significant 
smile. 

With some degree of embarrassment, Pandaenus 
answered, “I came to ask your protection; and that 
22 


254 


PHI LOTHEA. 


Eudora might for the present consider her as a sister, 
until I can restore her to her family.” 

“ It shall be so,” replied Artaphernes; “ but this is 
a very small part of the debt I owe the nephew of 
Phidias. Should you hereafter have a favor to ask of 
Cleonica’s noble family, poverty shall be no obstruc- 
tion to your wishes. I have already taken measures 
to. purchase for" you a large estate in Elis, and to remit 
yearly revenues, which will I trust be equal to your 
wishes. I have another favor to ask, in addition to 
the many claims you already have upon me. Among 
the magnificent pictures that adorn the Pcecile, I have 
not observed the sculptor of your gods. I pray you 
exert your utmost skill in a painting of Phidias crowned 
by the Muses; that I may place it on those walls, 
a public monument of my gratitude to that illustrious 
man. 

“ Of his statues and drawings I have purchased all 
that can be bought in Athens. The weeping Panthea, 
covering the body of Abradates with her mantle, is 
destined for my royal and munificent master. By the 
kindness of Pericles, I have obtained for myself the 
beautiful group, representing my precious little Arta- 
minta caressing the kid, in that graceful attitude which 
first attracted the attention of her benefactor. For the 
munificent Eleans, I have reserved the Graceful Three, 
which your countrymen have named the presiding 
deities over benevolent actions. All the other statues 
and drawings of your illustrious kinsman are at your 
disposal. Nay, do not thank me, young man. Mine is 
still the debt; and my heart will be ever grateful.” 

The exertions of Clinias, although they proved un- 
availing, were gratefully acknowledged by the present 
of a large silver bowl, on which the skillful artificer, 


PHILOTHEA. 


255 


Mys, had represented, with exquisite delicacy, the 
infant Dionysus watched by the nymphs of Naxos. 

In the midst of this generosity* the services of Geta 
and Mibra were not forgotten. The bribe given to the 
steward was doubled in the payment, and an offer made 
to establish them in any part of Greece, or Persia, 
where they wished to reside. 

A decided preference was given to Elis, as the only 
place where they could be secure from the ravages of 
war. A noble farm, in the neighborhood of Proclus, 
was accordingly purchased for them, well stocked with 
herds and furnished with all agricultural and household 
conveniences. Geta, having thus become an owner of 
the soil, dropped the brief name by which he had been 
known in slavery, and assumed the more sonorous ap- 
pellation of Philophidias. 

Dione, old as she was, overcame her fear of perils 
by land and sea, and resolved to follow her young 
mistress into Persia. 

Before a new moon had begun its course, Pandaenus 
fulfilled his intention of returning to Olympia, in com- 
pany with the Lacedaemonian ambassador and his train. 
Cleonica, attended by Geta and Mibra, travelled under 
the same protection. Artaphernes sent to Proclus four 
noble horses and a Bactrian camel, together with seven 
minae as a portion for Zoila. For Pterilaus, likewise, 
was a sum of money sufficient to maintain him ten 
years in Athens, , that he might gratify his ardent desire 
to become the disciple of Plato. Eudora sent her 
little playmate a living peacock, which proved even 
more acceptable than her flock of marble sheep with 
their painted shepherd. To Melissa was sent a long, 
affectionate epistle, with the dying bequest of Philothea, 
and many a valuable token of Eudora’s gratitude. 


256 


PHILOTHEi, 


Although a brilliant future was opening before her, 
the maiden’s heart was very sad, when she bade a last 
farewell to the honest and faithful attendants, who 
had been with her through so many changing scenes, 
and aided her in the hour of her utmost need. 

The next day after their departure was spent by the 
Persian in the worship of Mithras, and prayers to 
Oromasdes. Eudora, in remembrance of her vision, 
offered thanksgiving and sacrifice to Phoebus and Pan ; 
and implored the deities of ocean to protect the Phoe- 
nician galley in which they were about to depart from 
Athens. 

These ceremonies being performed, Artaphernes 
and his weeping daughter visited the studio of Myron, 
who, in compliance with their orders, had just finished 
the design of a beautiful monument to Paralus and 
Philothea, on which were represented two doves sleep- 
ing upon garlands. 

For the last time, Eudora poured oblations of milk 
and honey, and placed fragrant flowers with ringlets of 
her hair upon the sepulchre of her gentle friend; then, 
with many tears, she bade a long farewell to scenes 
rendered sacred by the remembrance of their mutual 
love. 


£■ 











CHAPTER XX. 


Next arose 

A well-towered city, by seven golden gates 
Inclosed, that fitted to their lintels hung. 

Then burst forth 

Aloud the piarringe-song ; and far and wide 
Long splendors Sashed from many a quivering torch. 

Hesiod. 

/' 

When the galley arrived at the opulent city of Tyre, 
the noble Persian and his retinue joined a caravan of 
Phoenician merchants bound to Ecbatana, honored at 
that season of the year with the residence of the royal 
family. Eudora travelled in a cedar carriage drawn 
by camels. The latticed windows were richly gilded, 
and hung with crimson curtains, which her father or- 
dered to be closed at the slightest indication of ap- 
proaching travellers. Dione, with six more youthful 
attendants, accompanied her, and exerted all their 
powers to make the time pass pleasantly; but all their 
stories of romantic love, of heroes mortal and immortal 
— combined with the charms of music, could not pre- 
vent her from feeling that the journey was exceed- 
ingly long and wearisome. 

She recollected how her lively spirit had sometimes 
rebelled against the restraints imposed on Grecian V 
women, and sighed to think of all she had heard con- 
cerning the far more rigid customs of Persia. Expres- 
sions of fatigue sometimes escaped her; and her in- 
dulgent parent consented that she should ride in the 
22* 


258 


PHILOTHEA. 


chariot with him, enveloped in a long, thick veil, that 
descended to her feet, with two small openings of net- 
work for the eyes. 

As they passed through Persia, he pointed out to her 
the sacred groves, inhabited by the Magi; the entrance 
of the cave where Zoroaster penned his divine pre- 
cepts; and the mountain on whose summit he was 
wont to hold midnight communication with the heavenly 
bodies. 

Eudora remarked that she nowhere observed tem- 
ples or altars; objects to which her eye had always 
been accustomed, and which imparted such a sacred 
and peculiar beauty to Grecian scenery. 

Artaphernes replied, “ It is because these things 
are contrary to the spirit of Persian theology. Zoro- 
aster taught us that the temple of Oromasdes was in- 
finite space — his altar, the air, the earth, and the 
heavens.” 

When the travellers arrived within sight of Ecba- 
tana, the setting sun poured upon the noble city a 
flood of dazzling light. It was girdled by seven walls, 
of seven different colors; one rising above the other, 
in all the hues of the rainbow. From the centre of the 
innermost, arose the light, graceful towers of the royal 
palace, glittering with gold. The city was surrounded 
by fertile, spacious plains, bounded on one side by 
Mount Orontes, and on the other by a stately forest, 
amid whose lofty trees might here and there be seen 
the magnificent villas of Persian nobles. 

Eudora’s heart beat violently, when her father 
pointed to the residence of Megabyzus, and told her 
that the gilded balls on its pinnacles could be discovered 
from their own dwelling; but maiden shame prevented 
her from inquiring whether Philaemon was still the in- 
structer of his sons. 


PHII, OTHEA. 


259 


The morning after his arrival, Artaphernes had a 
private audience with his royal master. This confer- 
ence lasted so long that many of the courtiers sup- 
posed his mission in Greece related to matters of more 
political importance than the purchase of pictures and 
statues; and this conjecture was afterward confirmed 
by the favors lavished upon him. 

It was soon known throughout the precincts of the 
court that the favorite noble had returned from Athens, 
bringing with him his long-lost daughter. The very 
next day, as Eudora walked round the terraces of her 
father’s princely mansion, she saw the royal carriages 
approach, followed by a long train of attendants, re- 
markable for age and ugliness, and preceded by an 
armed guard, calling aloud to all men to retire before 
their presence, on pain of death. In obedience to 
these commands, Artaphernes immediately withdrew 
to his own apartment, closed the shutters, and there 
remained till the royal retinue departed. 

The visiters consisted of Amestris, the mother of 
Artaxerxes; Arsinde of Damascus, his favorite mis- 
tress; and Parysatis, his daughter; with their innu- 
merable slaves. They examined Eudora with more 
than childish curiosity — pulled every article of her 
dress, to ascertain its color and its texture — teased to 
see all her jewels — wanted to know the name of every 
thing in Greek — requested her to sing Greek songs 

— were impatient to learn Ionian dances — conjured 
her to paint a black streak from the eyes to the ears 

— and were particularly anxious to ascertain what cos- 
metic the Grecian ladies used to stain the tips of their 
fingers. 

When all these important matters were settled, by 
means of an interpreter, they began to discuss the 


260 


PHILOTHEA. 


merits of Grecian ladies; and loudly expressed their 
horror at the idea of appearing before brothers un-» 
veiled, and at the still grosser indelicacy of sometimes 
allowing the face to be seen by a betrothed lover. 
Then followed a repetition of all the gossip of the 
harem; particularly, a fresh piece of scandal concern- 
ing Apollonides of Cos, and their royal kinswoman, 
Amytis, the wife of Megabyzus. Eudora turned away 
to conceal her blushes; for the indelicacy of their lan- 
guage was such as seldom met the ear of a Grecian 
maiden. 

The Queen mother was eloquent in praise of a young 
Lesbian girl, whom Artaphernes had bought to attend 
upon his daughter. This was equivalent to asking for 
the slave; and the captive herself evinced no unwil- 
lingness to join the royal household; it having been 
foretold by an oracle that she would one day be the 
mother of kings. Amestris accepted the beautiful 
Greek with many thanks, casting a triumphant glance 
at Arsinoe and Parysatis, who lowered their brows, as 
if each had reasons of her own for being displeased 
with the arrangement. 

The royal guests gave and received a variety of 
gifts; consisting principally of jewels, embroidered 
mantles, veils, tufts of peacock feathers with ivory 
handles, parrots, and golden boxes filled with roseate 
powder for the fingers, and black paint for the eye- 
brows. At length they departed, and Eudora’s at- 
tendants showered perfumes on them as they went. 

Eudora recalled to mind the pure and sublime dis- 
course she had so often enjoyed with Philothea, and 
sighed as she compared it with this specimen of inter- 
course with high-born Persian ladies. 

When the sun was setting, she again walked upon 


philothea. 


£61 


the terrace; and, forgetful of the customs of the coun- 
try, threw back her veil, that she might enjoy more 
perfectly the beauty of the landscape. She stood 
thoughtfully gazing at the distant pinnacles, which 
marked the residence of Megabyzus, when the barking 
of Hylax attracted her attention, and looking into the 
garden, she perceived a richly dressed young man, 
with his eyes fixed earnestly upon her. She drew her 
veil hastily, and retired within the dwelling, indulging 
the secret hope that none of her attendants had wit- 
nessed an action which Artaphernes would deem so 
imprudent. 

On the following morning commenced the celebrated 
festival called, ‘The Salutation of Mithras;’ during 
which, forty days were set apart for thanksgiving and 
sacrifice. The procession formed long before the 
rising of the sun. First appeared a long train of the 
most distinguished Magi from all parts of the empire, 
led by their chief in scarlet robes, carrying the sacred 
fire upon a silver furnace. Next appeared an empty 
chariot consecrated to ( romasdes, decorated with gar- 
lands, and drawn by white steeds harnessed with gold. 
This was followed by a magnificent large horse, his 
forehead flaming with gems, in honor of Mithras. 
Then came the Band of Immortals, and the royal kin- 
dred, their Median vests blazing with embroidery and 
gold. Artaxerxes rode in an ivory chariot, richly in- 
laid with precious stones. He was followed by a long 
line of nobles, riding on camels splendidly caparisoned; 
and their countless attendants closed the train. This 
gorgeous retinue slowly ascended Mount Orontes. 
When they arrived upon its summit, the chief of the 
Magi assumed his tiara interwoven with myrtle, and 
hailed the first beams of the rising sun with prayer and 


262 PHILOTHEA. 

sacrifice. Then each of the Magi in turns sung ori- 
sons to Oromasdes, by whose eternal power the radi- 
ant Mithras had been sent to gladden the earth, and 
preserve the principle of life. Finally, they all joined 
in one universal chorus, while king, princes, and no- 
bles, prostrated themselves, and adored the Fountain 
of Light. 

At that solemn moment, a tiger leaped from an ad- 
joining thicket, and sprung toward the king. But ere 
the astonished courtiers had time to breathe, a javelin 
from some unknown hand passed through the ferocious 
animal, and laid him lifeless in the dust. 

Eudora had watched the procession from the house- 
top; and at this moment she thought she perceived hur- 
ried and confused movements, of which her attendants 
could give no explanation. 

The splendid concourse returned toward the palace 
in the same order that it had ascended the mountain. 
But next to the royal chariot there now appeared a 
young man on a noble steed, with a golden chain about 
his neck, and two heralds by his side, who ever and 
anon blew their trumpets, and proclaimed, “This is 
Phikemon of Athens, whom the king delighteth to 
honor! ” 

Eudora understood the proclamation imperfectly; 
but afar off, she recognized the person of her lover. 
As they passed the house, she saw Hylax running to 
and fro on the top of the wall, barking, and jumping, 
and wagging his tail, as if he too were conscious of the 
vicinity of some familiar friend. The dog evidently 
arrested Philaemon’s attention; for he observed him 
closely, and long continued to look back and watch his 
movements. 

A tide of sweet and bitter recollections oppressed 




PHI LOTHEA, 


263 


the maiden’s heart; a deadly paleness overspread her 
cheeks; a suffocating feeling choked her voice; and 
had it not been for a sudden gush of tears, she would 
have fallen. 

When her father returned, he informed her that the 
life of Artaxerxes had been saved by the promptitude 
and boldness of Philaemon, who happened to perceive 
the tiger sooner than any other person at the festival. 
He added, “ I saw Philaemon after the rescue, but we 
had brief opportunity to discourse together. I think 
his secluded habits have prevented him from hearing 
that I found a daughter in Athens. He told me he 
intended soon to return to his native country, and 
promised to be my guest for a few days before he 
departed. Furthermore, my child, the Great King, 
in the fullness of his regal bounty, last night sent 
a messenger to demand you in marriage for his son 
Xerxes.” 

He watched her countenance, as he spoke; but 
seemed doubtful howto understand the fluctuating color. 
Still keeping his scrutinizing gaze fixed upon her, he 
continued, “ Artaminta, this is an honor not to be lightly 
rejected — to be princess of Persia now, and hereafter 
perhaps its queen.” 

In some confusion, the maiden answered, “ Perhaps 
the prince may not approve his father’s choice.” 

“No, Artaminta; the prince has chosen for himself. 
He sent his sister to obtain a view of my newly-dis- 
covered daughter; and he himself saw you, as you 
stood on the terrace unveiled.” 

In an agitated voice, Eudora asked, “ And must I be 
compelled to obey the commands of the king? ” 

“Unless it should be his gracious pleasure to dispense 
with obedience,” replied Artaphernes. “ I and all my 
I 


264 


PHILOTHE A, 


household are his servants. I pray Oromasdes that 
you may never have greater troubles than the fear of 
becoming a princess.” 

“But you forget, my dear father, that Parysatis 
told me her brother Xerxes was effeminate and capri- 
cious, and had a new idol with every change of the 
moon. Some fairer face would soon find favor in his 
sight; and I should perhaps be shut up with hundreds 
of forgotten favorites, in the old harem, among silly 
women and ugly slaves.” 

Her father answered, in an excited tone, “ Artaminta, 
if you had been brought up with more becoming seclu- 
sion, like those silly Persian women, you would perhaps 
have known, better than you now seem to do, that a 
woman’s whole duty is submission.” 

Eudora had never heard him speak so harshly. 
She perceived that his parental ambition was roused, 
and that her indifference to the royal proposal dis- 
pleased him. The tears fell fast, as she replied, “Dear 
father, I will obey you, even if you ask me to sacrifice 
my life, at the command of the king.” 

Her tears touched the feelings of the kind old man. 
He embraced her affectionately, saying, “Do not weep, 
daughter of my beloved Antiope. It would indeed 
gratify my heart to see you queen of Persia; but you 
shall not be made wretched, if my interest with the 
Great King can prevent it. All men praise his justice 
and moderation; and he has pledged his royal word to 
grant anything I ask, in recompense for services ren- 
dered in Greece. The man who has just, saved his 
life can no doubt obtain any favor. But reflect upon 
it well, my daughter. Xerxes has no son; and should 
you give birth to a boy, no new favorite could exclude 
you from the throne. Perhaps Philaemon was silent 


1PHILOTHEA. 


26 5 


from other causes than ignorance of your arrival in Per- 
sia; and if this be the case, you may repent a too hasty 
rejection of princely love.” 

Eudora blushed like crimson, and appeared deeply 
pained by this suggestion^ but she made no answer. 

Artaphernes departed, promising to seek a private 
audience with the king ; and she saw him no more that 
night. When she laid her head upon the pillow, a 
mind troubled with many anxious thoughts for a long 
time prevented repose; and when she did sink to sleep, 
it was with a confused medley of ideas, in which the 
remembrance of Philaemon’s love was mixed up with 
floating visions of regal grandeur, and proud thoughts 
of a triumphant marriage, now placed within her power, 
should he indeed prove as unforgiving and indifferent, 
as her father had suggested. 

In her sleep, she saw Philothea; but a swift and 
turbid stream appeared to roll between them; and her 
friend said, in melancholy tones, “ You have left me, 
Eudora; and I cannot come to you, now. Whence 
are these dark and restless waters, which separate our 
souls? ” 

Then a variety of strange scenes rapidly succeeded 
each other — all cheerless, perturbed, and chaotic. 
At last, she seemed to be standing under the old 
grape-vine, that shaded the dwelling of Anaxagoras, 
and Philaemon crowned her with a wreath of myrtle. 

In the morning, soon after she had risen from her 
couch, Artaphernes came to her apartment, and mildly 
asked if she still wished to decline the royal alliance. 
He evinced no displeasure when she answered in the 
affirmative; but quietly replied, “It may be that you 
have chosen a wise part, my child ; for true it is, that 
safety and contentment rarely take up their abode 
23 


266 


PHILOTHEA. 


with princes. But now go and adorn yourself with 
your richest apparel; for the Great King requires me 
to present you at the palace, before the hour of noon. 
Let your Greek costume be laid aside ; for I would 
not have my daughter appear like a foreigner, in the 
presence of her king.” 

With a palpitating heart, Eudora resigned herself 
into the hands of her Persian tire-women, who so loaded 
her with embroidery and gems, that she could scarcely 
support their weight. 

She was conveyed to the palace in a cedar carriage, 
carefully screened from observation. Her father rode 
by her side, and a numerous train of attendants fol- 
lowed. Through gates of burnished brass, they en- 
tered a small court with a tesselated pavement of black 
and white marble. Thence they passed into a long 
apartment, with walls of black marble, and cornices 
heavily gilded. The marble was so highly polished 
that Eudora saw the light of her jewels everywhere 
reflected like sunbeams. Surprised by the multiplied 
images of herself and attendants, she did not at first 
perceive, through the net-work of her veil, that a 
young man stood leaning against the wall, with his 
arms folded. This well-remembered attitude attracted 
her attention, and she scarcely needed a glance to as- 
sure her it was Philsemon. 

It being contrary to Persian etiquette to speak 
without license within hearing of the royal apartments, 
the Athenian merely smiled, and bowed gracefully to 
Artaphernes; but an audible sigh escaped him, as he 
glanced at the Greek attendants. Eudora hastily 
turned away her head, when he looked toward her; 
but her heart throbbed so violently, that every fold of 
her veil trembled. They continued thus in each 


PHILOTHEA. 


267 


other’s presence many minutes; one in a state of per- 
fect unconsciousness, the other suffering an intensity 
of feeling, that seemed like the condensed excitement 
of years. At last a herald came to say it was now the 
pleasure of the Great King to receive them in the pri- 
vate court, opening into the royal gardens. 

The pavement of this court was of porphyry inlaid 
with costly marbles, in various hieroglyphics. The. 
side connected with the palace was adorned with 
carved open-work, richly painted and gilded, and with 
jasper tablets, alternately surmounted by a golden ram 
and a winged lion; one the royal ensign of Persia, the 
other emblematic of the Assyrian empire conquered by 
Cyrus. The throne was placed in the centre, under a 
canopy of crimson, yellow, and blue silk, tastefully in- 
termingled and embroidered with silver and gold. 
Above this was an image of the sun, with rays so 
brilliant, that it dazzled the eyes of those who looked 
upon it. 

The monarch seemed scarcely beyond the middle 
age, with long flowing hair, and a countenance mild 
and dignified. On his right hand stood Xerxes — on 
his left, Darius and Sogdianus; and around him were 
a numerous band of younger sons; all wearing white 
robes, with jewelled vests of Tyrian purple. 

As they entered, the active buzzing of female voices 
was heard behind the gilded open-work of the wall; 
but this was speedily silenced by a signal from the 
herald. Artaphernes prostrated himself, till his fore- 
head touched the pavement; Eudora copied his ex- 
ample; but Philaemon merely bowed low, after the 
manner of the Athenians. Artaxerxes bade them 
arise, and said, in a stern tone, “Artaphernes, has 
thy daughter prepared herself to obey our royal 


268 


P K I L O T H E A , 


mandate ? Or is she still contemptuous of our kingly 
bounty? M 

Eudora trembled; and her father again prostrated 
himself, as he replied: “O great and benignant king? 
mayest thou live forever. May Oromasdes bless thee 
with a prosperous reign, and forever avert from thee 
the malignant influence of Arimanius. I and my 
household are among the least of thy servants. May 
the hand that offends thee be cut off, and cast to un- 
clean dogs / 5 

“ Arise, Artaphernes! 55 said the monarch. “Thy 
daughter has permission to speak . 55 

Eudora, awed by the despotic power and august 
presence of Artaxerxes, spoke to her father, in a low 
and tremulous voice, and reminded him of the royal 
promise to grant whatever he might ask. 

Philaemon turned eagerly, and a sudden flush man- 
tled his cheeks, when be heard the pure Attic dialect, 
with its lovely marriage of sweet sounds . 55 

“What does the maiden say? 55 inquired the king. 

Artaphernes again paid homage, and answered: “O 
Light of the World! Look in mercy upon the daughter 
of thy servant, and grant that her petition may find 
favor in thy sight. As yet, she hath not gained a 
ready utterance of the Persian language — honored 
and blessed above all languages, in being the messen- 
ger of thy thoughts, O king. Therefore, she spoke in 
the Greek tongue, concerning thy gracious promise to 
grant unto the humblest of thy servants whatsoever he 
might ask at thy hands . 55 

Then the monarch held forth his golden sceptre, and 
replied, “Be it unto thee, as I have said. I have 
sought thy daughter in marriage for Xerxes, prince of 
the empire. W^hat other boon does Artaphernes ask 
of the king ? 55 


PHILOTHEA. 


269 


The Persian approached, and reverently touching 
the point of the sceptre, answered: “ O King of kings! 
before whom the nations of the earth do tremble. 
Thy bounty is like the overflowing Nilus, and thy 
mercy refreshing as dew upon the parched earth. If 
it be thy pleasure, O king, forgive Artaminta, my 
daughter, if she begs that the favor of the prince, like 
the blessed rays of Mithras, may fall upon some fairer 
damsel. I pray thee have her excused.” 

Xerxes looked up with an angry frown; but his royal 
father replied, “ The word of the king is sacred; and 
his decree changeth not. Be it unto thee even as thou 
wilt.” 

Then turning to Philtemon, he said: “Athenian 
stranger, our royal life preserved by thy hand deserves 
a kingly boon. Since our well beloved son cannot find 
favor in the eyes of this damsel, we bestow her upon 
thee. Her father is one of the illustrious Pasargadne, 
and her ancestors were not unremotely connected with 
the princes of Media. We have never looked upon 
her countenance — deeming it wise to copy the pru- 
dent example of our cousin Cyrus; but report de- 
scribes her beautiful as Panthea.” 

Eudora shrunk from being thus bestowed upon Phil- 
semon; and she would have said this to her father, had 
he not checked the first half-uttered word by a private 
signal. 

“ With extreme confusion, the Athenian bowed low, 
and answered, “Pardon me, OKing, and deem me 
not insensible of thy royal munificence. I pray thee 
bestow the daughter of the princely Artaphernes upon 
one more worthy than thy servant.” 

“Now, by the memory of Cyrus! exclaimed Arta- 
xerxes, “ The king’s favors shall this day be likened 
23 * 


270 


PHILOTHEA. 


unto a beggar, whose petitions are rejected at every 
gate.” 

Then, turning to his courtiers, he added: “ A proud 
nation are these Greeks! When the plague ravaged 
all Persia and Media, Hippocrates of Cos, refused our 
entreaties, and scorned our royal bounty; saying he 
was born to serve his own countrymen, and not for- 
eigners. Themistocles, on whom our mighty father 
bestowed the revenues of cities, died, rather than fight 
for him against Athens; — and lo! here is a young 
Athenian, who refuses a maiden sought by the Persian 
prince, with a dowry richer than Pactolus.” 

Philaemon bowed himself reverently, and replied: 
“Deem not, O king, that I am moved by Grecian 
pride ; for well I know that I am all unworthy of this 
princely alliance. An epistle lately received from 
Olympia makes it necessary for me to return to 
Greece; where, O king, I seek a beloved maiden, to 
whom I was betrothed before my exile.” 

Eudora had trembled violently, and her convulsed 
breathing was audible, while Philaemon spoke; but 
when he uttered the last words, forgetful of the reve- 
rence required of those who stood in the presence of 
majesty, she murmured, “ Oh, Philothea! ” and sunk 
into the arms of her father. 

The young man started; — for now, not only the lan- 
guage, but the tones were familiar to his heart. As 
the senseless form was carried into the garden, he 
gazed upon it with an excited and bewildered ex- 
pression. 

Artaxerxes smiled, as he said. “ Athenian stranger, 
the daughter of Artaphernes, lost on the coast of Ionia r 
was discovered in the household of Phidias, and the 
Greeks called her Eudora.” 


PHILOTHEA. 


27 


Philaemon instantly knelt at the monarch’s feet, and 
said, “ Pardon me, O king. I was ignorant of all this. 

I ” 

He would have explained more fully; but Arta- 
xerxes interrupted him; “We know it all, Athenian 
stranger — we know it all. You have refused Arta- 
minta, and now we bestow upon you Eudora, with the 
revenues of Magnesia and Lampsacus for her dowry.” 

Before the next moon had waned, a magnificent 
marriage was celebrated in the court of audience, 
opening into the royal gardens. On a shining throne, 
in the midst of a stately pavilion, was seated Arta- 
xerxes, surrounded by the princes of the empire. Near 
the throne stood Philremon and Eudora. Artaphernes 
placed the right hand of the bride within the right hand 
of the bridegroom, saying, “ Philcemon of Athens, I 
bestow upon thee, Artaminta, my daughter, with my 
estates in Pasagarda, and five thousand darics as her 
dowry.” 

The chief of the Magi bore sacred fire on a silver 
censer, and the bridal couple passed slowly around it 
three times, bow r ing reverently to the sacred emblem 
of Mithras. Then the bridegroom fastened a golden 
jewel about the bride’s neck, and they repeated certain 
words, promising fidelity to each other. The nuptial 
hymn was sung by six handsome youths, and as many 
maidens, clothed in white garments, with a purple 
edge. 

Numerous lamps were lighted in the trees, making 
the gardens bright as noon. Females belonging to the 
royal household, and to the most favored of the nobil- 
ity, rode through the groves and lawns, in rich pavil- 
ions, on the backs of camels and white elephants. As 
the huge animals were led along, fireworks burst from 


272 


PHILOTHEA. 


under their feet, and playing for a moment in the air, 
with undulating movements, fell in a sparkling shower. 

Artaxerxes gave a luxurious feast, which lasted 
seven days; during which time the Queen entertained 
her female guests with equal splendor, in the apart- 
ments of the women. 

The Athenian decree against those of foreign parent- 
age had been repealed in favor of young Pericles; but 
in that country everything was in a troubled and un- 
settled state; and Artaphernes pleaded hard to have 
his daughter remain in Persia. 

It was therefore decided that the young couple 
should reside at Pasagarda, situated in a fertile valley, 
called the Queen’s Girdle, because its revenues were 
appropriated to that costly article of the royal ward- 
robe. This pleasant city had once been the favorite 
residence of Cyrus the Great, and a plain obelisk in 
the royal gardens marked his burial-place. The ad- 
jacent promontory of Taoces afforded a convenient 
harbor for Tyrian merchants, and thus brought in the 
luxuries of Phoenicia, while it afforded opportunities 
for literary communication between the East and the 
West. Here were celebrated schools under the direc- 
tion of the Magi, frequently visited by learned men 
from Greece, Ethiopia, and Egypt. 

Philsemon devoted himself to the quiet pursuits of 
literature; and Eudora, happy in her father, husband 
and children, thankfully acknowledged the blessings of 
her lot. 

Her only daughter, a gentle maiden, with plaintive 
.voice and earnest eyes, bore the beloved name of 
Philothea. 






APPENDIX. 


Zeus — The Jupiter of the Romans. 

Zeus Xenius — Jupiter the Hospitable. 

Hera — Juno. 

Pallas — Minerva. 

Pallas Athena — An ancient appellation of Minerva, from which 
Athens took its name. 

Pallas Parthenia — Pallas the Virgin. 

Pallas Promachos — Pallas the Defender. 

Phcebus — The Apollo of the Romans; the Sun. 

Phoebus Apollo — Phoebus the Destroyer, or the Purifier. 

Phoebe — Diana; the Moon. 

Artemis — Diana. 

Agrotera — Diana the Huntress. 

Orthia — Name of Diana among the Spartans. 

Poseidon — Neptune. 

Aphrodite — Venus. 

Urania — The Heavenly Venus. The same name was applied 
to the Muse of Astronomy. 

Eros — Cupid. 

Hermes — Mercury. 

Demeter — Ceres. 

Persephone — Proserpine. 

Dionysus — Bacchus. 

Pandamator — A name of Vulcan, signifying the All-subduing. 
Mnemosyne — Goddess of Memory. 

Chloris — Flora. 

Asclepius — Esculapius. 


274 


APPENDIX. 


Rhamnusia — Name of a statue of Nemesis, goddess of Ven- 
geance ; so called because it was in the town of Rhamnus. 
Polydeuces — Pollux. 

Leto — Latona. 

Taraxippus — A deity whose protection w'as implored at Elis, 
that no harm might happen to the horses. 

Erinnys — The Eumenides, or Furies. 

Naiades — Nymphs of Rivers, Springs, and Fountains. 
Nereides — Nymphs of the Sea. 

Oreades — Nymphs of the Mountains. 

Dryades — Nymphs of the Woods. 

Oromasdes — Persian name for the Principle of Good. 

Mithras — Persian name for the Sun. 

Arimanius — Persian name for the Principle of Evil. 

Odysseus — Ulysses. 

Achilleus — Achilles. 

Cordax — An immodest comic dance. 

Agora — A Market House. 

Prytaneum — The Town House. 

Deigma — A place in the Piraeus, corresponding to the modern 
Exchange. 

Clepsydra — A Water-dial. 

Cotylce — A measure. Some writers say one third of a quart ; 
others much less. 

Ary tana — A small cup. 

Arabyllus — A vase, wide at bottom and narrow at top. 

Archons — Chief Magistrates of Athens. 

Prytanes — Magistrates who presided over the Senate. 
Phylarchi — Sheriffs. 

Epistates — Chairman, or speaker. 

Hippodrome — The Horse-course. 

Stadium — Thirty six and a half rods. 

OholuSy (plural Oholi) — A small coin, about the value of a 
penny. 

Drachma, (plural Drachma) — About ten-pence sterling. 

Mina , (plural Mince) — Four pounds, three shillings, four pence. 
Stater — A gold coin; estimated at about twelve shillings, three 
pence. 

Daric — A Persian gold coin, valued one pound, twelve shillings, 
three pence. 

^ All the above coins are estimated very < ifferently by different writers.) 


APPENDIX. 


275 


“ The midnight procession of the Fanathenaia .” p. 11. 

This festival in honor of Pallas was observed early in the sum- 
mer, every fifth year, with great pomp. 

“ The Sacred Peplus .” p. 12. 

This was a white garment consecrated to Pallas, on which the 
actions of illustrious men were represented in golden embroidery. 

“ Court of Cynosarges .” p. 13. 

Cases of illegitimacy were decided at this court. 

“ Festival of Torches .” p. 15. 

In honor of Prometheus. The prize was bestowed on him who 
ran the course without extinguishing his torch. 

“ Six months of seclusion within the walls of the Acropolis , 
were required of the Canephorce .” p. 21. 

Maidens of the first families were selected to embroider the sacred 
peplus. The two principal ones were called Canephorae, because 
they carried baskets in the Panathenaic procession. 

“ Fountain of Byhlis .” p. 32. 

This name was derived from a young Ionian, passionately fond 
of her brother Caunus, for whom she wept till she was changed into 
a fountain, near Miletus. 

“ During the festivities of the Dionysia .” p. 41. 

This festival, in honor of Dionysus, was observed with great 
splendor. Choragic games are supposed to have been celebrated; 
in which prizes were given to the successful competitors in music, 
and the drama. 

“ The tuneful soul of Marsyas .” p. 41. 

Marsyas was a celebrated musician of Phrygia, generally consid- 
ered the inventor of the flute. 

“ Contest between fighting quails.” p. 42. 

In Athens, quails were pitched against each other, in the same 
manner as game-cocks among the moderns. 

“ I perceived no paintings of those who had been wrecked.” p. 43. 

This idea is borrowed ; but I cannot remember whence. 


276 


APPENDIX. 


“ Pericles withdrew a rose from the garland p. 43. 

This flower was sacred to Silence. The ancients often sus* 
pended it above the table at feasts, to signify that what was said sub 
rosa was not to be repeated. 

“ A life-time as long as that conferred upon the namesake of 
Tithonus .” p. 44. 

It is related of him, that he asked and obtained the gift of immor- 
tality in this world; but unfortunately forgot to ask for youth and 
vigor. 

“ Eleusinian Mysteries .” p. 45. 

Ceremonies at Eleusis, in honor of Demeter, observed with great 
secresy. Those who were initiated were supposed to be peculiarly 
under the protection of the gods. 

“ The Universal Mind. * ’ p. 46. * 

Anaxagoras is supposed to have been the first who taught the doc- 
trine of one God, under the name of One Universal Mind. 

“ Model for the sloping roof of the Odeum .” p. 51. 

Pericles was usually represented with a helmet, to cover the de- 
formity in his skull. It was jestingly said that the model for the 
Odeum was from his own head. 

“ Patriotic song of Callistratus.” p. 53. 

Translated from the Greek, by the Rt. Rev. G. W. Doane, Bishop 
of New-Jersey. 

“ While our rosy fillets shed,” fyc. p. 55. 

The 43d Ode of Anacreon. This and other extracts from the 
same poet are translated by Thomas Moore, Esq. In the mottoes, 
some phrases are slightly altered; not with the hope of improving 
them, but merely to adapt them to the chapters. 

“ All ending in ippus and ippides .** p. 59. 

Ippus is the Greek for horse. Wealthy Athenians generally be- 
longed to the equestrian order; to which the same ideas of honor 
were attached as to the knights, or cavaliers, of modern times. 
Their names often signified some quality of a horse; as Leucippus, 
a white horse, &c. 




277 




APPENDIX. 

“ Describing her pompous sacrifices to Demeter .” p. 47. 

None but Greeks were allowed to enter the temple of this goddess. 

“ Urania alone confers the beauty -giving zone.” p. 66. 

Urania was the Heavenly Venus, who presided over the pure sen- 
timent of love, in distinction from Aphrodite, who presided over the 
sensual passion. 

“ Temple of Urania in the Gardens .” p. 68. 

This was the temple of the Heavenly Venus. 

“ The Pleiades mourning for their lost sister .” p. 71. 

One of the stars in the constellation of the Pleiades is said to have 
disappeared. They were fabled as seven sisters, and one lost her 
place in the sky by marrying a mortal. 

“ More happy than the gods is he .” p. 57. 

. Second Ode of Sappho, translated by F. Fawkes, Esq. 

“ He clothed the Graces .” p. 58. 

Socrates was originally a sculptor. He carved a beautiful group 
of the Graces; said to have been the first that were represented with 
clothing. 

“Too frugal to buy colored robes.” p. 73. 

The common people in Athens generally bought white garments, 
for the economy of having them dyed when they were defaced. 

“ I am as wakeful as the bird of Pallas.” p. 74. 

Owls were sacred to the goddess of wisdom. 

“A garland fastened with a delicately-carved arrow.” p. 75. 

Grecian lovers often chose this beautiful manner of complimenting 
the object of their affections. 

«« A humble shrine for a Muse so heavenly.” p. 79. 

The name of Urania was applied to the Muse of Astronomy, as 
well as to the Heavenly Venus. 

“ Every human being has, like Socrates, an attendant 
spirit .” p. 86. 

In the Phcedrus of Plato, Socrates is represented as saying, 
24 


273 


APPENDIX. 


“When I was about to cross the river, a demoniacal and usual sign 
was given me; and whenever this takes place, it always prohibits 
me from accomplishing what I was about to do. In the present 
instance, 1 seemed to hear a voice, which would not suffer me to 
d-epart till I had made an expiation; as if I had offended in some 
particular a divine nature.” 

By these expressions, the philosopher probably did not mean 
conscience in the usual acceptation of that term; but rather the 
inward voice , as believed in by the Mystics, and by the Society of 
Friends. 

In ancient times, the word demon was not applied exclusively to 
evil spirits. Hesiod says: 

“ Thrice ten '.housand holy dements rove 

This breathing world ; the immortals sent by Jove.” 

“ His statue stajids among the Olympionicce .” p. 89. 

The victors at the Olympic Games had their statues placed in the 
groves. These statues were called Olympionicse. 

“ Count me on the summer trees.” p. 95. 

Part of the 14th Ode of Anacreon. 

“ I heard one of the sophists.” p. 104. 

Some of the sayings here attributed to the sophists are borrowed 
from a source which I have forgotten. My recollections are so con- 
fused that I cannot decide what portions are quoted and what are 
not. I remember having read the remark concerning rhetoric’s 
being the noblest of the arts; and the anecdote of the man who 
wished his son to learn to prove that right was wrong, or wrong was 
right — only he wanted him to be carefully instructed always to use 
this faculty in the right way. 

“ As soon would I league myself with Odomantians.” p. 108. 

The Odomantians of Thrace, near the river Strymon, had the 
same grasping, avaricious character attributed to the Jews in modern 
times. 

“ Concealed their frauds amid the flames of the Treas- 
ury.” p. 109. 

The Treasury in Athens was burned to the ground, by the Treas- 
urers, who took that method to avoid being called to account for the 
money they had embezzled. 


APPENDIX. 


279 


** When the lake is still they lose their labor.” p. 112. 

This comparison is used by Aristophanes. 

“ That comes of having the Helots among them.” p. 113. 

The freemen of Sparta were forbidden the exercise of any me- 
chanical or laborious employment. All these duties devolved upon 
the Helots; while their masters spent their time in dancing, feasting, 
hunting, and fighting. 

“ He approves the law forbidding masters to bestow 
freedom.” p. 113. 

There was a Spartan law forbidding masters to emancipate their 
slaves. About two thousand, who were enfranchised by a public 
decree, for having bravely defended the country during the Pelopo- 
nessian war, soon after disappeared suddenly, and were supposed to 
have been secretly murdered. 

“ Whip them ^merely to remind them of bondage.” p. 113. 

The Helots were originally a brave people; but after they were 
conquered by the Spartans, no pains were spared to render them 
servile and degraded. Once a year they publicly received a severe 
flagellation, merely to remind them that they were slaves. They 
were never allowed to learn any liberal art, or to sing manly songs. 
In order to expose them to greater contempt, they were often obliged 
to perform indecent dances, and to get brutally drunk, that their mas- 
ter’s children might learn to despise such uncomely things. 

“ Things as trifling as the turning of a shell.” p. 116. 

This was an Athenian proverb, applied to things that were done 
quickly, or changed easily. 

(t You must indeed wrestle at Cynosarges.” p. 116. 

This was a name of Hercules; and because he was illegitimate, 
it was applied to a place near the Lyceum, where those of half 
Athenian blood, were wont to exercise in gymnastic sports. Themis- 
tocles, being partly of foreign extraction, induced the young Athenian 
nobles to go there and wrestle with him, that the distinction might be 
done away. 


“ Festival Anthesteria.” p. 116. 

In honor of Dionysus. The best drinker was rewarded with a 


280 


APPENDIX. 


golden crown and a cask of wine; and none but Athenians were 
allowed to enter the theatre. 

Chap. X. p. 118. 

Scholars will say this trial ought to have been before the Areopa- 
gus. But I was induced to choose popular assemblies, for the sake 
of more freedom of description, and to avoid a repetition of what has 
been so often described. There was a law in Athens, by which it 
was decreed that all who taught new doctrines concerning the gods 
were to be tried by the people; but of the date of this law, I am 
ignorant. 

Solon provided four assemblies. The First approved or rejected 
magistrates, heard catalogues of confiscations and fines, and received 
accusations from the thesmothetae archons. The Second received 
petitions relative to public and private concerns. The Third gave 
audience to foreign powers. The Fourth managed religious matters. 

“Cleon arose.” p. 119. 

Cleon was a tanner; a violent enemy of Pericles. 

“ Which he inscribed Demus.” p. 125. 

A phrase signifying the People, or the Democracy. 

“Pericles teas zealously assisted by Clinias.” p. 127. 

The Clinias here mentioned was not the father of Alcibiades; 
though perhaps a relative. 

<c Sing their welcome to Ornithiee.” 129. 

This name was applied to a wind that blew in the spring, at the 
time when the birds began to return. It was a Grecian custom for 
children to go about with garlands from door to door, singing a wel- 
come to the swallows, and receiving trifling presents in return. 

✓ 

“ The marble sent by Darius .” p. 130. 

The Persians were so confident of victory that they brought with 
them marble to erect a trophy on the plains of Marathon. From 
this marble Phidias sculptured a statue of Vengeance, which was 
called Rhamnusia. 

“ Filled my pillow with fresh laurel leaves.” p. 137. 

Phoebus was supposed to inspire dreams and prophecy; and the 
laurel, which was sacred to him, was supposed to be endowed with 
similar properties. 


APPENDIX. 


281 


“ Like one returned from the cave of Trophonius .” p. 141. 

In this cave was a celebrated oracle. Those who entered it al- 
ways returned pale and dejected. 

“ Psyche bending over the sleeping Eros.” p 143. 

This beautiful fable represents the union of the human soul with 
immortal love. Psyche was warned that separation would be the 
consequence, if she looked on the countenance of her divine lover. 
She gazed on his features as he slept; and was left to sorrow alone. 

(l Even the Diasia are no longer observed .” p. 148. 

Festivals in honor of Zeus, because he delivered men from mis- 
fortunes and dangers. 

“ When the Muses and the Charities inhabit the same 
temple.” p. 153. 

Among the Greeks, the Graces were called the Charities. It 
was a beautiful idea thus to deify the moral, rather than the outward 
graces; and to represent innocent and loving nymphs, forever hand 
in hand, presiding over kind and gentle actions. The Graces were 
often worshipped in the same temple' with the Muses. 

<* Olive garlands suspended on the doors.” p. 77. 

This was a common practice during the festival of Thargelia, in 
honor of Phoebus. 

“ Gently touched the back part of his head with a small 
wand.” p. 194. 

That the phenomena of animal magnetism were not entirely un- 
known to the ancients, appears by what Clearchus relates of an ex- 
periment tried in the presence of Aristotle. He speaks of a man 
who, by means of “ a soul-attracting wand,” let the soul out of a 
sleeping lad, and left the body insensible. When the soul was 
again led into the body, it related all that had happened to it. 

“ The laws of the country made it impossible to accompany her 
beloved husband.” p. 198. 

No woman was allowed to enter Olympia, during the celebration 
of the games. 

« Deemed he had fallen by the dart of Phoebus Apollo.” p. 200. 

Those who died very suddenly were supposed to have been 
struck with the arrows of Phoebus, or his sister. 


282 


APPENDIX. 


“Three days and three nights Paralus remained in complete 
oblivion .” p. 200. 

It is related of Cleonymus, the Athenian, that when laid out to be 
buried, his mother thought she discovered faint symptoms of life. 
He afterward revived, and told many wonderful things he had seen 
and heard. There was likewise one Eurynous, who came to life 
after he had been buried fifteen days. 

“ Its best pleasures are like the gardens of Adonis .” p. 204. 

When the annual procession formed to mourn the death of 
Adonis»£arth was placed in shells, and lettuce planted in it, in com- 
memoration of Adonis laid out on a bed of lettuces. These shells 
were called the Gardens of Adonis. Their freshness soon withered, 
on account of the shallowness of the earth. 

“ Dressed in white , with a wreath of roses.” p. 218. 

When persons of worth and character died, and when the young 
departed, garlands were often used as emblems of joyfulness. An 
old Greek poet says: 

“ Not that we less compassionate have grown, 

Do we at funerals our temples crown, 

Or with sweet essences adorn our hair, 

And all the marks of pleasing transport wear j 
’Tis that we ’re sure of that more happy state 
To which friendly death doth their souls translate.” 

With regard to the white garments, I have probably departed 
from ancient customs, for the sake of investing death with cheer- 
fulness. 

“ Rather gain one prize from the Choragus than ten from the 
Gymnasiarch.” p. 211. 

The first presided over musical and literary competition; the last 
over athletic games. 

“ The statue of Persephone, ( that ominous bridal gift.”) p. 218. 

While Persephone was gathering flowers, she was seized by 
Pluto, and carried to the regions of the dead, over which she pre- 
sided. Hence the hair of the deceased was consecrated to her, and 
her name invoked at funerals. 

“ Mibra sneezed aloud.” p. 219. 

This was considered a lucky omen; particularly if the sound 
came from the direction of the right hand. 


APPENDIX. 


283 


“ He will trust to Hermes to help him.” p. 231. 

Hermes was the god of lies and fraud. 

“ Have I told you all my flames.” p. 232. 

Part of the 14th Ode of Anacreon. 

“ Threatened to appeal to the magistrates for another 
master .” p. 217. 

The Athenian slave laws were much more mild than modern 
codes If a servant complained of being abused, his master had no 
power to retain him. 

“ Build the wall of Hipparchus.” p. 241. 

A wall built round the Academia by Hipparchus was so expensive 
that it became a proverb applied to all costly undertakings. 

** One of the slaves whose modesty Alcibiades had in- 
sulted.” p. 241. 

Slaves that were either personally abused, or insulted, took refuge 
in the Temple of Theseus, and could not be compelled to return to 
those of whom they complained. 

“ These brooks are Creusa’s tears.” p. 244. 

Ion was the son of Phoebus and CreUsa. His mother, to avoid 
her father’s displeasure, concealed the birth of the infant, and hid 
him in the grotto, which afterward bore her name. The child was 
preserved, and brought up in the temple of Phoebus. 

“ She does not speak like one brought up at the gates.” p. 245. 

The lower classes of tradesmen were generally placed near the 
gates. 

“ One of the illustrious Pasargadce.” p. 269. 

These were the noblest familes in Persia. 

In some unimportant matters, I have not adhered strictly to dates; 
deeming this an allowable freedom in a work so purely romantic, 
relating to times so ancient. 

I am aware that the Christian spirit is sometimes infused into a 
Grecian form; and in nothing is this more conspicuous than the 
representation of love as a pure sentiment rather than a gross 
passion. 


284 


APPENDIX. 


Greek names for the deities were used in preference to the Ro- 
man, because the latter have become familiarized by common and 
vulgar use. 

If there be errors in the application of Greek names and phrases, 
my excuse must be an entire want of knowledge in the classical 
languages. But, like the ignoramus in the Old Drama, I can boast, 
“ Though I speak no Greek, I love the sound on’t.” 




























































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